


See My Sadness, Share My Sin

by HellNHighHeels



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Episode rewrite: Nightmare in Silver, F/M, I'm not sure what this is. Mostly smut and angst, and if you squint at the end there's a little bit of fluff. kinda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-10
Updated: 2018-01-10
Packaged: 2019-03-03 01:19:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13330443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HellNHighHeels/pseuds/HellNHighHeels
Summary: She’s had worse dates, all things considered. Though, River must admit, when the Doctor promised her “a screaming good time,” an out-of-service theme park infested with Cybermen wasn’t exactly what she had in mind.





	See My Sadness, Share My Sin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [goddessdel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/goddessdel/gifts).



> This is my barely on time Secret Santa gift for the wonderful Sarah! Happy late Hanukkah! Happy new year! Happy everything because you deserve all the best. xxx
> 
> Special shout out to Cassie for always kicking my arse and putting up with me. 
> 
> Story title from Heavy by Birdtalker

 

She’s had worse dates, all things considered. Though, River must admit, when the Doctor promised her “ _a screaming good time_ ,” an out-of-service theme park infested with Cybermen wasn’t exactly what she had in mind. To add insult to injury, him indoors has been, well, _indoors_ for the majority of it. He barreled in some time ago while River was establishing defenses for the castle, carrying a rope, a box, and shouting something about Time Lords inventing chess before shutting himself off in one of the upstairs chambers. She paid him little mind at the time, too focused on making this heap defensible. It wasn’t much to work with, a draw bridge, some exposed wires, and a few handheld weapons. The only thing worth half a damn is the bomb River currently has cradled in her arms.

 

It’s not as heavy as a planet eater ought to be. The moral implications of that aside, River finds herself grateful for weapon of mass destruction’s light weight as she trudges her way up the stairs in search of the Doctor. She has the detonator tucked safely in her boot, the heels of which click against grey, lackluster bricks with every step she takes. From above, the faint hum of carnival music whines out of nearly obsolete speakers, and to the side, the castle’s crumbling embrasures can be found. Through the small opening, River can make out the remnants of a billboard. It’s clear the once impressive advertisement used to read _Hedgewick’s World of Wonders_ , but now all that remains are a few crooked letters and chipped paint. The air smells distinctly of mold and disuse and, thanks to current events, the ever present, looming threat of death.

 

Honestly, River can’t decide which is more depressing, this forgotten planet or the GI Joe rejects forced to live here. Truth be told, blowing it up would be a community service, but she highly doubts the Doctor would approve. Not that his grandiose ethical code has ever stopped her from doing what needs doing. Her moral compass tended to be a little left of center in comparison to his, and, well, River prefers to keep her Time Lord on a need to know basis.

 

Not that they really speak much these days. Her Doctor looks through her more often than at her, and it’s funny how she still thinks of him as _hers_ , even when he hasn’t held her in weeks. They exist around one another. They run, they sleep, they smile because they _ought_ to. They travel together because it’s what Amy would have wanted. It’s almost a relief to step off of the TARDIS, out of the ship she calls home and into wastelands and war-zones. At least there she can breathe. At least guilt and obligation don’t cloud the air like smog.

 

Frankly, she’s only searching for him now because she must, because the soldiers are getting restless and scared and he’s always been more tolerant than she has, always been better at appeasing a crowd, always better at lying when he knows things wouldn’t be alright.

 

She’s about to round another corner in search of her pacifist husband when the distinct sound of crashing draws her attention. Following the noise, River finds herself in front of a stone door. Given the circumstance, she pauses to listen and when she hears the Doctor’s muttering, River pushes inside without a second thought.

 

The room is exactly what one would expect, cocooned by stone on all sides, knights in shinning armour, and regal red drapes. There’s only one table, placed pointedly at the center of the room and occupied by a large chess board. River makes for the corner of the room, gently setting down the bomb as she declares, “I sure hope you have a plan. This lot is trying to blow up the planet.”

 

Dusting her hands off as she stands, River turns toward the Doctor, taking note of him for the first time. He’s wearing some sort of paneling on his face, a communication device or, quite possibly, a souvenir. Even in times of crisis, he can never stay away from a gift shop. The whole room is bathed in an eerie purple light that seems to originate from everywhere and nowhere in particular. Behind him resides a crimson throne, and before him, a small round table. He doesn’t seem to have noticed her, too lost in thought as he stands in the middle of the room, knuckles white as he looms over the chair like a tortured warlord.

 

Honestly, that man did have such a flare for the dramatic.

 

“Sweetie, are you even listening to me?” River accuses, hands resting indignantly on her hips. When he still doesn’t respond, River takes a deliberate step toward him, giving her fingers a loud, purposeful snap. 

 

The sound seems to wake the Doctor from his trance, blinking back into the land of the living as he turns to her with a beaming smile. “River! There you are,” he barks. “Tie me to this chair!”

 

“Down boy,” River scoffs. As shocked as she is to hear the enthusiasm in his voice and as much as her ego appreciates it- “Now is hardly the time for breaking out the handcuffs.”

 

“Not like that!” He blushes, scandalized even as his voice turns grave. “The fate of the planet depends on it.”

 

“All men feel that way when they’re trying to get lucky,” River dismisses him, making to step past him as she continues. “Now about that plan you must have, I was thinking-“

 

“I’m serious, Riv-ahh!” The Doctor interrupts her, hissing his frustration before his words bleed into a pained grunt.

 

Startled, River stops in her tracks, finally taking a moment to really, properly examine him. He’s hunched over, head low, hands gripping violently to the back of the chair, as if he’ll spiral off into oblivion if he lets go. His hair is a tousled mess, his bow tie crooked. There’s a chess board on the table before him, the pieces scattered and board knocked askew. There’s obvious signs of a struggle here, but the room is empty save the two of them. So where’s the other player?

 

“Doctor?” River asks cautiously. He’s deliberately hiding his face from her and it makes a chill crawl it’s way up her spine.

 

Something low and unintelligible mutters out of his lips and River takes a step closer, the hair on the back of her neck standing on end. It isn’t fear, but rather an electrical current that makes her body alert. It pulses in the air and dances across her skin, and the feeling only intensifies as she reaches out to touch him.

 

He grabs her before she gets the chance. The Doctor’s hand striking out like a viper, fingers coiling around her wrist in an unrelenting vice.

 

“River, River, River.”Her name tumbles out from between his lips like a spell trying to ensnare her. The Doctor’s expression is contorted, scowling down at her. Except, it isn’t the Doctor. The face of her husband stares back at her but his movements are foreign, a puppet on a string. The wires on his temple spark and buzz and it isn’t a souvenir at all.

 

River’s free hand twitches for her weapon, voice steady as she asks, “And you are?”

 

“The Doctor, of course.” His mouth moves but it isn’t her lover’s voice that spills out. It’s northern, like the him she hasn’t yet met, the broody one with the leather jacket and war wounds behind kind eyes.

 

The eyes she’s looking into now are anything but kind and it’s all the evidence River needs to draw her weapon. “Wrong answer.”

 

The sight of her gun makes his lips curl in a way the Doctor’s never would as he says, “Aren’t you a naughty one.” His eyes don’t linger on her long, skimming over her shoulder to land on the bomb she placed in the corner. “She delivers, too. Lucky me.”

 

He makes to take a step forward, through her, toward the weapon. River responds instantly, slamming into him and pushing until his back collides with the unforgiving wall, pinning him in place with her own body. It’s closer than their bodies have been in weeks, but it isn’t how she imagined it would be. She didn’t anticipate fear to be prickling up her spine. She expected anger and frustration as they collapsed into one another after one too many nights of oppressive silence. She envisioned confessions would tangle up with kisses, but there’s none of that now. Hostility where there should be honesty, only her gun pressed into his temple when it ought to be her lips.

 

He doesn’t make to throw her off or fight her in any way, their other hands trapped between their bodies, hers held captive by his vice-like grip. He simply stares down, a calculated twist of his head as he murmurs, “Bespoke psychopath indeed.” And this time when he speaks, he sounds more posh and dignified than her clumsy husband could ever manage, more like his long ago self she wasn’t supposed to meet. It’s right and it’s wrong, like a lid screwed on a bit crooked or a night without stars or a kiss through a veil.

 

“Only the Doctor gets to call me that and you’re not him,” A soft click fills the air as River adjusts the settings on her blaster, switching off the safety. “Last chance. Who are you?

 

“Clever girl.” The man before her smirks like a predator, twisting her husband’s lips in an unnatural manner. “I’m clever too, you know. Mr. Clever, in fact.”

 

The purr of his voice is darker than anything to ever spills from her husband’s mouth. But his unique aroma of time and trouble and tweed still radiates off him in waves. His eyes no longer speak of kindness, but the faint lines around them are a perfect match to the ones she knows so well. He is different and yet he is the same, because it’s not an imposter at all; it’s a parasite.  “What have you done with him?”

 

“Oh, he’s in here.” The parasite coos, his free hand rising to tap at his temple. Inwardly, River shudders because if that means what she thinks it means, if their consciouses have been integrated, then separating them is going to be a hell of a party trick. “The old man is putting up a fight. He didn’t hold to his end of the bargain, the little devil.”

 

“What bargain?”

 

“Chess. Winner take all.” His grin widens as he leans into her space to snarl, “He lost.”

 

“Prove the Doctor’s still in there or I’ll blow that Cyber until right off his pretty little forehead.”

 

His eyes narrow, sizing her up before accepting her challenge and closing his eyes, taking a long drag in through his nose. When he opens his eyes again, they’re a tiny bit softer, the hint of a shy smile twitching at the corner of his cheeks.

 

“I knew you’d see through him. I knew you would come through for me. You always do, my River.” He pauses, studying her face like all life’s answers are written in her age lines. “Listen,” he begins again. “The Cyber Planner is hibernating now. I’ve got control, but in order to keep it that way, we need to get out of here.”

 

Her brow furrows. “And go where, somewhere more defensible than the castle?”

 

“No, River, off the planet.” His grip on her hand tightens pleadingly. “There’s nothing we can do for them. It’s too late. But me and you,” He cups her face. “We can still run.”

 

His eyes are desperate, boring into her like she’s his only hope. River gazes up at him for a moment, slowly removing her hand from his pleading grip before she pressing her gun further into his cheek, her trusting smile curling into a smirk.

 

“Nice try. But the Doctor isn’t smart enough to run away from a losing battle.” It’s what she loves most about him, not that she’d ever tell him so. “Prove the Doctor’s alright or there’s no point in keeping this head attached to his shoulders.”

 

“You’re right. It is a losing battle.” With the flip of a switch, the soft features of her Doctor’s face contort from one of adoration to one of disgust as he snarls down at her. “Nothing you do matters because, like it or not, this brain is _mine_ and this pitiful little planet and it’s sorry little soldier are helpless to stop m-“

 

A hard slap silences him, the sharp sound of flesh on flesh echoing off stone walls as the Doctor lets out a yelp that turns to a scream of pain and frustration. River watches as the shadows in his eyes recede and life is breathed back into the golden streaks around his irises. Returned to her for real this time, her Doctor shakes his head, his grip on her wrist softening as his free hand scrubs at his cheek. “How did you know that would work?”

 

The body pressed against hers is warm and pliant as they stare at one another, sharing a glimmer of clarity that tastes like fresh air. Their palms find each other like magnets, and maybe it’s just a reflex, a habit, but their fingers entwine in a way they haven’t done since _before_.

 

“I didn’t.” River offers flatly and a flash of a smile crosses the Doctor’s face, proud and enamored, before it’s replaced by an expression far more solemn.

 

“Immobilize me,” he orders. “Now.”

 

He steps away from the wall then. River allows the movement, turning to watch as he plops himself into the chair, babbling, his façade of _fine_ firmly back in place.

 

“Just the waist ought to do it. Leave the hands free, just in case.” He looks up to find River arching a brow and he huffs,  thrusting rope toward her expectantly. “I can’t do it myself, can I? If I can tie myself up, he can untie us.”

 

“And who is _he_?” River’s eyes narrow accusingly even as she grabs the rope to comply. “What the hell is going on?”

 

“Cyber Planner. Nothing,” he quips, nonchalant. “Long story. I’ve got him on the ropes.” At that, the Doctor gestures to the rope winding around his torso, beaming at his own accidental pun. It’s an expression River knows all too well, the one he flashes when he’s keeping those around him calm. The best way to fool someone was to play the fool yourself. It’s a role he adopts more often than not these days, dawning his mask of joviality. Usually, she plays along, smiling cordially as they both pretend not to notice the other is hollow inside.

 

But she’s having none of it now, scowling through his façade, her voice a warning. “Doctor..”

 

“It’s a bit of a good news, bad news, good news situation,” he explains in a voice River finds suspiciously chipper. “Good news: I’ve infiltrated the cyber hive mind and I now know their plans. Bad news: I lost a game of chess and now he’s slowly devouring my mind. But, _but_ , good news again: there’s next to nothing I can do to stop him and his legion from waking up and converting everyone on this planet.”

 

Glancing up from her task, River levels him with a glare. “How is that good news?”

 

“Sorry, wires are a bit crossed at the moment. You have to forgiv-ah!” He bites back a shout, shaking away the pain he can’t quite hide. “River, this could get messy. I need you to look after the soldiers out there.”

 

He’s struggling more than he lets on, always in more danger than he’d like her to believe. But she’s no fool, seeing through him like a stained glass window. If the wires are crossed that thoroughly, it’s only a matter of time before all of his subconscious is lost amongst code. The Planner will erode him from within until he’s forgotten right from wrong and up from down and friend and foe. She might not be able to stop the process, but she can buy time by distracting the Cyber Planner and giving it a primary task on which to focus.

 

“They can handle themselves,” River states, voice leaden. “You can’t.” His eyes darken like her words bring with them a shadow of guilt. Her stern expression begs no arguments and he grunts in frustration, hands flexing.

 

“Fine,” he snaps. “If you insist on being so stubborn, listen, because this is very important…” his warning lodges in his throat as he flinches and grunts once again, his head ducking and shoulders tensing.

 

“Come on, Doctor! Keep it together. I’m lecturing in the morning,” she reminds him teasingly. “Which means I don’t have time to die on this ugly rock they call a planet.”

 

The man before her pants out a strained laugh, “This isn’t the rock you die on.”

 

River freezes, a sudden weight settling in her stomach like a stone. “Which one of you said that?”

 

His body has gone stiff, muscles replaced by iron rods, tension rippling off his body in waves. The grin scarring what ought to be her husband’s face is all the answer she needs. “You die somewhere much, much worse. Alone, in the dark.”

 

Task completed, and not a moment too soon. River stills, remaining exactly where she is. She hasn’t backed away, hands still resting on the ropes that bind him. She remains as cold and unfeeling as the machine ravishing her husband’s brain, putting his words to the back of her mind and pretending he hasn’t just confessed that he’s seen her take her last breath.

 

“You’re going to watch everyone on this planet die too. Pointlessly, and very far from home.” His lips curl like something wicked is begging to escape, voice taunting as he continues, “But then again. You wouldn’t know anything about that. You don’t have a home, do you, Melody Pond?” Her birth name sizzles against the air like acid and the Cyber Planner quivers with glee. “Ohhh, he’s very sensitive about that. The guilt in here is palpable. Maybe that’s why he’s been erasing himself from history.”

 

He’s baiting her, River knows. But there’s a truth in those hazel eyes, a static honesty that doesn’t derive from emotion. Maybe it’s the mechanical indifference to his discovery that makes River ask, “What does that have to do with me?”

 

A sly little smile pulls at his mouth as the Cyber Planner focuses his deadly attentions back on her. “You know why.”  

 

 _I got too big_ sizzles like a brand at the forefront of her memory, her own warning turning her blood cold. There’s no mistaking the Cyber Planner’s meaning, and the brutal honesty fills the air like smoke. River doesn’t dare speak the epiphany aloud, refusing to voice the revelation incase her voice sets it in stone. _Why would he do that, heed this one warning above all the others?_ Tampering with time already got her released from prison. What else could he be trying to change? One couldn’t erase the bad without also losing the good. Not one line. It applied to more than just them. Surely he knew that.

 

“His guilt left him open to being rewritten,” the Cyber Planner taunts. “His emotions got the better of him and they’ll be what ruins him. He lost today because he was too emotional, too worried about saving others. Even now, he’s worried about saving you.”

 

“I don’t need saving.” It isn’t a challenge or a bluff. It’s a fact, proof of it written in her even pulse and steady hands. The machine before her isn’t quite as stoic. There’s a glint in his eyes that looks an awful lot like joy. Perhaps he’s not like the other Cybermen. Perhaps he’s not entirely void of emotion. If he can be giddy, then he can feel fear too. And if he’s susceptible to that, then just maybe, she has a chance at saving the Doctor.

 

“Is that so?” he asks condescendingly.

 

River hums, standing upright before adjusting to sit on his lap. The closeness would be jarring if it were _him_ , but right now, it isn’t. It’s just a stranger with the face of the man she loves and maybe that’s why it only hurts a fraction of what it ought to when his body freezes at her close proximity.

 

“What are you doing?” he asks, alarmed, hands clenched not unlike how her baby-faced Doctor was in the beginning.

 

“I want to know how void of emotion you really are,” River coos.

 

Her hands wind into his hair and before he can object, she’s kissing him. He tastes like she remembers, sugary and sharp and forbidden, and she can’t help the quiet moan she gives simply at the feel of his lips. His body is rigid beneath her, not at all her pliant, obedient, eager Doctor. Then, suddenly, the lips soften against hers. They begin to part and pucker, moving like seduction is a science and he’s just coded an upgrade. It feels almost real and she hopes like hell the Doctor won’t remember the desperate hum that escaped her at the feel of his mouth against hers.

 

When he finally touches her, it isn’t with the Doctor’s tender, loving hands. They’re more like an id, a little rough, determined, tactless. They grip at her hips just a bit too tight and fingers dig just a bit too deep. His lips press into hers like he’s stealing her affections rather than sharing them, teeth clicking against hers as if he can tear her down from the inside out. 

 

River is more subtle in her movements, graceful where he is forceful, gentle where he is rough, malleable where he is ridged. She is sly and teasing as her hands slide over his chest and under his coat. Her nails scratch, but not enough to sting. Not like his do, calloused fingers leaving marks as they claw their way lower. He’s dangerously close to her blaster, she knows. But there’s no time to bat him away, not when her own fingers have all but reached their goal. They’re in sync when they finally make their move, his hand finding the hilt of her blaster as River’s fingers coil around his sonic.

 

Both pull back, brandishing their prize, his pressed to her temple and River’s skyward. There’s never been something so wrong as her gun in the Doctor’s hand. The eyes are dark and deadly but her husband is still in there. She sees him in the sparkle around the irises, dormant, a background program. The rest of those hazel eyes she adores are consumed by the Planner. Malicious intent mingles with the savior of the universe and it shouldn’t thrill her but it does.

 

It’s almost a shame they’ll glass over soon, that her lipstick will take effect and they’ll unfocus as toxins course through his veins and induce hallucinations. She waits for both lights to fade, for the Cyber Planner to drift into daydreams. But it never comes. Instead, familiar lips curl at the corners as a husky voice whispers, “You taste like poison.”

 

“Thank you, dear.”

 

“Poppy.” He licks his lips again, his wrist relaxing as he contemplates, leaving the barrel of her gun to graze her cheek. “With a hint of Gurung honey and just a trace of holly. A very nice hallucinogen, indeed.”

 

His reaction, or lack thereof, can only mean one thing- at some point, the Doctor had the foresight to make himself immune to her lipsticks. Damn him. “Thanks for the heads up. Next time I’ll try something a little stronger.”

 

“There won’t be a next time, because any minute now my Cyber Legion will wake up, storm across this planet like a plague, and harvest every last one of you.”

 

“Ah, you see, that’s where you’re wrong.”  River toys with the screwdriver, brandishing her defense like a plaything. “You’re not going to harvest anyone, because any time I choose, I can use this sonic to shut off whatever’s protecting this planet, blow the airlock seal, and have all these people sucked off into the vacuum of space. And you won’t get very far without new parts, now, will you?”

 

“You wouldn’t let all these people die.”

 

“I’ve never been fond of authority figures, military or otherwise. So if it keeps you lot from harvesting the parts you need, well, these people can hang for all I care.”

 

“You’re bluffing.”

 

“Am I?” Silence takes the room as she leans in to trail her lips over his ear. She brushes against the paneling on his cheek as she does so, warm skin and cool metal, sweat and copper dancing on her tongue as she whispers, “I wear poison as an accessory. Do I really seem the type to give a damn about human lives?”

 

It isn’t true. Or maybe it is. It’s hard to say what’s real when the Doctor’s in danger. Most days, there’s a code she keeps to when she runs with him, but when he’s out of commission, well… she does what she must. And when it’s all over, if he’s yelling at her, at least he’s breathing.

 

There’s a quiet rage inside her, one she keeps buried, a tomb full of all the worst parts of her. She lets it out to play at times likes this, lets her eyes go cold in a way that would give her Doctor shivers.

 

“Stalemate, then.” The Cyber Planner concedes, but doesn’t lower his weapon. 

 

“Well, we could either sit like this for eternity, not that I’m complaining-” she raises a brow, stroking his cheek with her nails, “-or we could do something about it.”

 

She lays her bait and he perks up like she knew he would, like a hungry mouse that’s caught the scent of cheese. “What do you suggest?”

 

“Chess,” she breathes, lips too curled, stretched too tight to be a smile. It sounds like _try me_ , and oh, she’s got his interest now.

 

“For the Doctor’s brain?” he challenges, and River tsks.

 

“No,” she corrects softly, threateningly, dragging her knuckles over the metal carved across his cheek. It’s as sharp as the bones beneath and impossibly more dangerous. “Yours.”

 

The man before her twitches, just a fraction, haggling with some internal quandary before those mechanical lips smirk and say, “He really doesn’t like that idea. He’s _scared_. How interesting.” The boyish smile that ought to belong to her husband morphs into a feral grin. His eyes narrow, studying her with such intensity River feels him in her bones. “Never mind him. What would you want with a Cyber Planner?”

 

It’s more threat than question, syllables hissing and popping at the air like grease on a frying pan.  “To make it off this rock alive for one thing.”

 

“Why should we want you? No offense but your tiny human brain is nothing in comparison to this.” A shiver of pleasure runs down the Cyber Planner’s spine, gleefully devouring her husband’s mind and memories.

 

“Who said anything about being human?” River blinks at him innocently, a deadly coquette.

 

His eyes narrow in suspicion, her offer too good to be true. When his arm lifts, reaching for her for the first time, there’s hesitance in fingers that would normally hold her like a lifeline. His hand finds her chest, clinical in how he presses his palm over her breasts, testing for a heart beat. Nonexistent eyebrows lift at the echo of twin organs, the subtle thumping he finds there steady and strong and decidedly _not_ human.

 

 “I know everything he knows,” River promises. “And I won’t fight you. I win the game. I prove I’m just as good as him. You take me instead.”

 

He shifts beneath her, an eager tongue licking at his lips. “And if I win?”

 

“I’ll give you something beyond your wildest dreams.” He arches a brow and River brings a slow and graceful hand to her chest, fingers tracing the line of her cleavage. The Cyber Planner removes his own curious appendage, dropping his arm to his side as he watches her pull a small, silver key out from between her breasts. “A TARDIS.”

 

A devilish smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, sucking a deep, delighted breath in through his nose. “Where did you get that?”

 

The words poor out in an intrigued exhale, leaning forward as if he means to take it with his teeth. Before he gets the chance, River slides it back, tucking it safely next to her hearts. She leans in to meet him, her mouth tantalizingly close to his. Somehow, she resists the urge to rock her body against his, instead letting her words roll off her tongue, all invitation and seduction and promise. “Come into my head and you can find out.”

 

A growl rumbles out of his throat, a sound too feral to be born from the mouth of just a machine. “The things this body could do with you.”

 

It’s a threat delivered by a lover, a promise of pleasure on the tongue of an enemy. A gun to her temple and the breath of her husband on her cheeks. It’s a sweet nothing whispered in a soothing voice. It’s lust filled eyes, dark with malicious intent. Its ecstasy all tangled up with poison and she isn’t sure if the words on his tongue are in reference to the Planner or her husband until the pupils narrow and focus like he’s unlocking another door in the Doctor’s mind.

 

“The things he’s already done…” his voice trails off, spiraling into a memory in a way that begs her to follow. “There are some skeletons in here about you. Would you like to know what they are?”

 

It’s tempting, treacherously so. River hates herself for it, but she does. She wants to dig up the graveyards in his mind, to see inside the garden of his thoughts, hear the things he never speaks, set free all the thoughts he keeps locked behind his lips. If she could, she would grind every spoiler that separates them into dust and revel in the way their secrets scattered in the wind.

 

River’s lips part, a question she isn’t sure how to form dancing on the tip of her tongue when the man beneath her lurches, bucking so suddenly and violently River digs her nails in his shoulders to hang on. The eyes that blink up her are miles from what they were a moment before. They’re soft and grateful and exhausted and-

 

“Why do I have your blaster?” Her Doctor frowns, confused and disgusted, as if something slimy and unpleasant has infected his skin. His grip loosens instantly, holding the hilt with two fingers as he thrusts the offending object in her direction. “And why are you on my lap?”

 

“You’ve never complained before,” River smirks, gliding the weapon out of his hand and tucking it away. She secrets away his screwdriver, too, and if he notices, he doesn’t comment on it.

 

“River, be serious,” her Doctor scolds. “There’s a lot at stake here.”

 

Rolling her eyes, River slips from his lap, leaving the warmth of his body behind as she stands. It’s odd to admit, but she felt more at home on the lap of a stranger than she does now. There was danger, yes, but a truce, too. The Cyber Planner’s intentions were clear, no second guessing. There was a trust there that the man before her decidedly lacks, truth in his eyes that the Doctor tries his best to hide. “I’m handling it. Make yourself useful and stay out of it.”

 

“You bet the TARDIS, River!” He complains, before stammering and smacking at his lips. His eyes go wide, scandalized as he blusters out, “Did you try to poison me?!”

 

With a huff, River comes to a stop at the other side of the table. The air she drags in through her nose is stuffy and stale and suddenly the small distance between them isn’t enough. She needs space and she isn’t sure who from anymore, the man she loves whose heart is full of spoilers or the parasite inside him willing to spill every dark secret.

 

“What would you have me do, sweetie,” River mocks. “Ask nicely and bat my eyes?”

 

“I’m just saying,” he argues. “Maybe don’t poison your husband and gamble away our only means of transportation. Now, it might not seem like it, but I’ve got this totally under con-“

 

“You can barely access the lips!” River snaps before taking a calming breath and exhaling, “Just let me handle this, Doctor. Please.” Her voice is quiet, but the singular word is anything but soft. It isn’t a question or a plea. It’s a command.

 

The Doctor twitches like a trigger has been pressed, some Pavlovian response she wasn’t aware he adheres too. She can’t help but wonder if it’s coincidence or if the Doctor conceded to her will. There isn’t much time to linger on the subject because the air around her has grown thicker. Hazel eyes blink and when they open again, the Cyber Planner is staring back her. His gaze is heavy and it pins River in place as she watches his jaw tense, grinding teeth against teeth like there’s a question or a command or a confession he’s trying to keep locked behind his lips.

 

River doesn’t dare dwell on what such twisted thoughts may be, choosing instead to take her seat. “Shall we get started?”

 

He quirks a brow at her calm demeanor, smirking like he thought she’d never ask. “Ladies first.”

 

“Chivalry from a Cyber Planner?” River teases as she straightens the board and puts the pieces in place. ”Never thought I’d see the day.”

 

The Doctor’s body gravitates toward her, leaning as far forward as his binds will allow.  His arms outstretch, assisting her in gathering the wooden trinkets. “Mr. Clever,” he corrects, the offer dangling in the air, an olive branch to an old friend.

 

River hums, neither accepting or declining his unspoken truce. “Bit self-aggrandizing, don’t you think?”

 

“Because River Song is such a subtle name,” he snorts, and River can’t help but chuckle.

 

Something has changed in him and she can’t place what or why. He sounds like her husband,  his banter quick as gentle fingers spread the game’s pieces with precision. Even the way he licks at his lips is reminiscent of her Doctor, tasting the air like a predator on the hunt, the tapping of his fingers a tell-tale sign he’s eager for the chase. It’s the eyes that give him away. There’s no kindness, only competition. There is no love or longing. There is only lust for victory and blood. If her Doctor is still in there, it’s the shadows he’s hiding in now. He left it to her, exactly as she asked him too.

 

Resolve settling like iron in her bones, River makes the first move. Clever follows her lead methodically, exactly the kind of textbook counter move one would expect from a computer. It’s safe and predictable and dull. It simply won’t due. Her second move is far more unorthodox, reckless even, and River takes pride in the way the man across from her pauses, calculating eyes recalibrating his odds of defeat.

 

She’s testing him, and he must know it because when their eyes meet across the table, he’s smirking. His next move is a mirror of her own, a challenge he answers with a wicked gleam behind his eyes. Neither of them speak, an eerie quiet settling over the room, the only sound that of soft thuds and scrapes as pieces are pushed around the board. The occasional burst of gunfire serenades them as they play, a scream and then silence the background soundtrack to their evening.

 

Eventually, it’s Clever who shatters the unsettling stillness, positioning his piece to take her pawn as he states, “He likes it when you beg.”

 

River freezes as her husband’s voice ripples across the stale air, dust itself seeming to quiver against his serious tone. He states it as fact, undisputed gospel, and the thought of it makes a shiver crawl across River’s spine, a strange sensation settling in her belly. Maybe it’s the dim lighting or the purple hue that clings to the air like smog, but there’s a look about him, a darkness born from more than just lust of power. It’s clear that’s it’s not her husband staring back at her. And yet, her racing pulse doesn’t seem to care. A vain, hungry part of her burns to know more, to demand how he knows these things and why he sees fit to mention it now.

 

River bites her tongue, lest it betray her. This is a game, not just of chess, but of wits, and she’ll be damned if she’ll let curiosity get the better of her. With a face of stone, River counters his move, protecting her pawn and playing as she always has, as if nothing is expendable. She knows better than anyone that pawns can often prove the most lethal.

 

Clever smirks at her defensive maneuver, like he anticipated her actions, like he can read her body language and smell her intent in the air, like it was a test and she failed. “You like it too, don’t you?” His voice is silk and poison as calculated fingers reach out to make his next move.  “Would you do it for _me_? Will you say please?”

 

The request makes the blood in her veins boil, resolve solidifying as she takes more aggressive tactics, declaring, “I don’t beg for things.”

 

Clever doesn’t follow her fingers or spare a second glance to the board or the trap she’s set for his knight. Instead, his eyes remain locked on her, watching like she is a picture he can paint by numbers, just code to be translated and corrected, as if her skin and bones are merely a tapestry he can unravel at will. 

 

“If you do,” he promises sweetly, his fingers stroking along the top of the piece, deceptively gentle movements disguising malicious intent,  “I’ll sacrifice my rook.”

 

River meets his gaze, staring into those dark eyes as if they are windows she can climb inside, as if his motives will be written in the streak of blue around his irises. But there’s nothing familiar to be found there anymore, no home of hers hidden in those hazel orbs.

 

“As I said,” River purrs, low and dangerous as she slides her wooden weapon across the board, taking his bishop. “I don’t beg.”

 

“Not even for your precious Doctor?” he mocks, and River’s eyes narrow.

 

“Especially not for the Doctor.”

 

The bold statement seems to make him blink, giving pause before he states, “He finds you incredibly distracting, you know.”

 

“And how do you find me?” River coos, leaning forward with lidded eyes.

 

“Fascinating,” he breathes, and the word sizzles across the air like a hiss. “There’s a lot of locked doors about you in here. I wonder what he’s hiding?” Clever pauses, a twitch of his head and a rumble of laughter rattling his chest. “He’s afraid I’ll tell you. He doesn’t want you to know.”

 

Laughter too cruel to come from her husband’s lips hangs in the air like a noose, but River remains the perfect portrait of calm as she shrugs. “We all have our secrets.”

 

“Not like this. _Ohh_ ,” the Cyber Planner chuckles, wicked and omniscient. “There are some skeletons in here.” Another mechanical twitch demands his chin tilt to the left as he recites, “Who turned out the lights?”

 

Except it isn’t a question at all; it’s a statement, a ghost of a day long past. Clever blinks again and whatever memory had taken hold of him slips back into the shadowy recesses of the Doctor’s mind, a smirk twisting the corner of his cheek.

 

“If you knew what he was going to do to you, you might not be so eager to help him.”

 

“Who says it’s him I’m helping?” River challenges, and Clever’s grin turns feral. His shoulders relax and there’s just enough time for the Doctor to come to life in those hazel eyes, sucking in a single, pained breath before the oxygen lodges in his throat. It all happens in a moment, his hands ball into fists, eyes slamming shut as an electrical current rips through his body, threatening to tear him in two. His mouth falls open in agony and she thinks he’d be screaming if only the air in his lungs weren’t betraying him. The hair on River’s arms stand on end, pulled towards him, to help him, to save him, to “ _Stop it!_ ”

 

The command is cutting, and the current ceases immediately, the Doctor’s pain replaced once again by Clever’s cruel smile. “See?” He taunts, clicking his tongue. “Emotions. They’ll get you every time.”

 

He called her bluff and it’s only when he raises the Doctor’s nonexistent eyebrow that River looks down to see how her body flinched, how she was betrayed by instinct. A heavy silence descends and River takes advantage of it, stilling hearts that raced at the sight of her husband in pain. She studies him, alarmed by how different two men can be even when they share the same face. Although, she can’t help but notice how not everything has changed. He still bites back his smirks the way the Doctor does when he has the upper hand, still taps his fingers when he’s impatient. She can still read him. It’s the same book, just a slightly different language.

 

“I’m not the only one hindered by emotions, you know.” River breaks the silence, her voice harmonizing with the smooth wooden object as it scratches across the table. Her piece comes to a stop, capturing his last remaining pawn as she continues, “You’re feeling things, too. I know because I know that face. I know what it’s thinking, when it’s over-confident.” She inches ever closer to whisper, “When it’s scared.”

 

There’s something beautiful in the way her words seem to burn him, the very nature of his offense standing trial as proof. Anger writhes in his chest like a living thing, scowling as he retaliates by taking her rook, snatching up the piece like a flower being ripped from its roots. “If that’s the case, you won’t mind a little side wager.”

 

Triumphant, River lounges back into her chair, hands folded across her lap. “I’m listening.”

 

“Let’s see who has better control of their emotions, hm? First to tap out sacrifices their queen.” The terms have barely left his mouth before another twitch claims him. “ _Ohh_ ,” Clever rumbles, and it sounds like thunder on the horizon. “Your Doctor doesn’t like that idea either. A hundred thousand volts. What does that mean? Memories are tricky, aren’t they?”

 

“Not my queen,” River states, countering his proposal and ignoring all else. “Bishop, maybe.” 

 

“Deal.” The word cuts at the air, offered a little too quick as he sits forward, leaning as far as his binds will let him. “You said I was scared, so let’s do something scary. Come closer.”

 

It’s a trap, there’s no denying that. He’s a spider, and this planet, this room, this game, it’s all his web. But there’s no backing down now without also accepting defeat. Despite her better instincts, River leans across the table, unflinching.

 

The Doctor’s hand begins to make its way toward her, but with Clever behind the wheel, it looks more like a snake in the grass, outstretched fingers that could strike at any moment. River merely arches a brow, sparing a brief glance to the pale appendage she would normally thrill to hold. They’re the hands she’s put her life in time and time again. They’re the hands she reaches for every time she runs. They’re the hands that held a gun to her temple only a moment ago.

 

Eyes tracking their way back to his face, the corners of her vision catch sight of his fingers, wiggling invitingly, and before she can check herself, River’s hand has already lifted and begun to slide its way across cool marble to meet him.

 

His fingers spread, searching for her, daring her to touch him. River makes the final move, accepting the challenge and closing the distance between them. Electricity bursts across her skin the moment they touch. The caress of his rough, calloused fingers shoot through her like a live wire, but she continues in her pursuit, tracing over his palm, not stopping until her fingers find his pulse. Blood is racing in his veins and his skin is hot, too hot, temperature raised because it’s fighting off a disease or perhaps it’s merely the electrical current warming his blood.

 

His wrist twists, slow and deliberate, pinning her palm beneath his. The pressure is gentle as the tips of his fingers dance over her palm and skim across the sensitive skin of her wrist, lingering over her pulse point. She isn’t breathing, a fact she isn’t aware of until her chest begin to burn, and it’s just as well her lungs are empty because in the next moment, Clever lurches forward. It’s abrupt, testing his restraints, even though his tender grip never tightens.

 

“Closer,” he commands, eyes lidded and voice low.

 

The distance between them is impossibly far and entirely too close for comfort. And River finds herself conceding, tracking the movements of his eyes as she leans even farther over to accommodate him. Hazel eyes trace all the places her husband would, her collar, her neck. They linger on her lips, and the next thing she knows, those calloused fingers are crawling up her forearms and biceps; they’re skirting across her shoulders and reaching for her face and-

 

River’s fingers coil around his wrist like a viper, stilling him in his path. Smug satisfaction tugs at the corner of his cheeks, thinking he’s won when River turns his palm away, twisting his arm just shy of a painful amount before bringing the back of his hand to her mouth. She starts slow, dragging her lips along his knuckles the way she’s done a thousand times before. The smirk falls from his cheeks like an anvil, replaced by suspicion and, judging by his crinkled brow, worry.

 

Seduction has always been her favorite game to play, the riskier the stakes, the better the high. Right now, the stakes have never been greater. It’s not just a planet or it’s people on the line anymore. It’s the Doctor, too, and when her mouth gets dangerously close to the tips of his fingers, she relishes the way his body stiffens and then shifts. She wonders if some part of him can access these memories, too. If this Cyber brain is being flooded with visions of skin and teeth and kisses in secret places.

 

He swallows hard and, inwardly, River thrills. She knows all too well what that expression means. It appears the Cyber Planner’s biggest strength is also their biggest weakness. They integrated too thoroughly. To test her theory, River employs her other hand, allowing her nails to drag along the soft skin of his forearm. His face is stone, but the flesh gives him away, sprouting goosebumps in the wake of her touch. Her lips are equally as tender, caressing his knuckles before she lets her tongue snake out between parted lips. It isn’t much, just a taste, capturing the sweetness of his skin before retreating behind her teeth. This time his reaction isn’t so easily tamed, his body demanding he adjust.

 

“Is something wrong?” River bats her eyes innocently, and Clever growls his answers without hesitation.

 

“Yes,” he half snarls, half purrs, distress furrowing his brow. “Someone immobilized me.”

 

It’s River’s turn to chuckle, a throaty, mischievous sound. “Needs must, I’m afraid.”

 

She stands, then, releasing her grip on his wrist, and Clever’s eyes narrow, watching as she removes her sonic and gun and places them on the table out of his reach. “What are you doing?”

 

“Coming to you.” River says with a smirk, leaving her weapons behind as she rounds the table, a devious sway in her hips. “Unless… you surrender?”

 

“Not a chance.” The promise in his voice makes her insides clench. Or maybe that’s the look in his eyes, a predator on the hunt, ready to devour its next meal.

 

She stalks toward him and with him all tied up before her, it’s hard to tell which one of them is really the prey. Sliding onto his lap is effortless, an act she’s done countless times before. But this time, his arms don’t fold around her. They don’t welcome her home after a long day. They refuse to hold or touch her; instead, they remain at his sides, stiff, lifeless, even as she lifts her arms to drape them lazily over his shoulders. Her fingers toy with the hair at the nape of his neck as she quirks a brow and asks, “Aren’t you going to touch me?”

 

She’d made her move and now it’s his turn to make his. River holds her ground, remaining still, watching him expectantly. His expression is skillfully blank as he lifts his hands. Tentative fingers hover around her sides, a man afraid of drowning dipping into the sea for the first time.

 

His gaze is calculating as he tracks over her body, deciding where to touch first, but not in the way her Doctor does. He doesn’t lick his lips in anticipation or breathe her in like a summer breeze. He studies her the way a lion does a gazelle, the air in his lungs still, breath trapped in his chest before the attack.

 

When he finally explores her, he does so in subtle ways, the tops of his fingers making contact with her side before dancing along the curve of her waist and down the small of her back. It’s too curious to be the touch of her lover, and River wonders if it’s weaknesses he’s looking for, or if, perhaps, he’s discovering something more.

 

“How do you do it?” he asks, voice like silk and daggers. “How are you an assassin and an associate of the Doctor?”

 

“Look me up, did you?” River chuckles. “Cheeky.”

 

“Just using my local resources.” He smirks, leaning into her ear to whisper, “Computer hive mind.”

 

His breath ghosts across her skin and he must sense the way she fights back a shiver because next she feels the press of warm lips to her throat. The feeling fades as quickly as it came as he pulls back again, hands skimming her sides like a question. The sensation ripples through her like a pebble in placid water, and oh, she’s playing with fire now, isn’t she. Fire in his eyes. In his hearts. In her belly. The very air he exhales tastes like destruction and need. River’s arms seem to have a mind of their own as they slide off his shoulders to make a home on his chest.

 

“Tell me,” he speaks again, voice heady and eyes murderous as his hands chase hers, stroking up over her shoulders and down her biceps until his familiar fingers entwine with her assassin hands. “You’ve killed him and yet you’ve killed for him. How can you be hard as nails and still so soft?”

 

“Good skin care routine,” she teases without a beat of pause. “Though I can’t see what use that would be to a machine.”

 

“I’m not all machine,” he whispers, the mere sound of his voice an invitation. Her hands slip from his, gravitating to his temple, where she brushes his fringe from his eyes. Call her sentimental, but he looks more like hers with his hair pushed back.

 

“No, you’re not, are you?” She breathes the words like a prayer whispered in the night, and someone must be listening because she swears she sees her Doctor in there, hiding, dormant, just behind the eyes. But there’s something else lurking there, too, something dark and new and begging to be let free.

 

“I can see into his mind,” Clever declares, tantalizing. “I see a green dress on a hanger. And towers.” He pauses and River’s breath catches at the title of the place he refuses to take her, their private moments spoken aloud by a stranger. “No, not towers,” he corrects. “ _Stars_. Your wedding night.”

 

The revelation thickens the air between them and River tries hard not to squirm as his hand makes its way over her shoulders, across her clavicle, and down between her breasts. He’s hunting for a racing heartbeat or the key she stowed away. River allows his searching hands to wander, knowing he’ll find neither. She’s far too practiced at deception to be fooled by a lover’s caress.

 

His eyes are locked on the movement of his fingers, but his chin tilts in concentration, his focus and thoughts far away as he says, “He should have told you then.”

 

“Told me what,” River exhales, her question all but a whisper, a fragile curiosity dangling on a string.

 

“That you’re not the only one willing to shatter reality to change fate.” The slender fingers on his other hand slide up the back of her neck and into her hair, dragging her closer. “He’d burn the universe for you. All you’d have to do is ask.”

 

The way he touches her is a dance she knows all to well, and River follows his lead willingly even as her words protest, “I would never do that to him.” Never put that on his conscience. _Not one line._

 

The Cyber Planner leans toward her then, so close to her lips she can taste the promises on his tongue. “Ask _me_ then,” he purrs. “I can do things for you he won’t, tell you things he’s too scared too,” his grip on her hair tightens, just enough to make her pulse skip, a threat, an invitation, a promise. “I can be things he can’t.”

 

Clever’s hands stroke down her back, coaxing her into submission. River arches into the touch, unsure if the reaction is for his benefit or hers, if she’s still setting a trap or falling into one. He’s always been a master of spinning sentences. She’s seen it enough times to take his proposition with a grain of salt. These words are no different. They could be poison in her veins or they could be a truth serum, a glimpse into the dark corners of his mind he never lets her see. She remembers the night he spoke of, the night there were two of him. She remembers the stars and the magic and the way he promised she would never, ever change. She remembers the promise of Darillium, too. It’s the one promise he keeps breaking, the one night he keeps canceling. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t have a hunch as to why, that she wasn’t terrified that soon she’ll lose him the way she lost her parents. But she’s never dared ask him, too afraid of the truth.

 

She could ask him now, she supposes, earn her answers in secret, free of the guilt that always seems to linger behind his eyes. The question sticks on the back of her tongue like syrup, but before the words can form, the hands on her back find their way to the top of her bum, skimming along her thighs in the most familiar of ways, and she realizes he’s incorporated far too much of her Doctor to ever give her the whole truth.

 

His lips press forward to drop kisses along her jawline, and River can’t help but dig her nails into the sensitive skin at the crook of his neck. In response, he clamps his hands around her thigh, fingers tight enough to bruise. His kisses explore her further, scattering down her neck and along her collar bone. His teeth drag across her skin, testing the tender flesh. River stiffens, muscles clenching, doing her best to suppress the way her body sings at the touch, to quell the spark the feel of him lights in her core.

 

Her goosebumps giver her away, anticipation and pleasure written across her body like brail. Encouraged, Clever dips lower, lips tracing the top of her breasts, following the crease of her cleavage. His teeth find the zipper of her dress, dragging it downward as much as the angel will allow. She is exposed, but rather than cold air greeting her, her chest is warmed by his shaky exhales. The slightest bit of moisture flicks out at her skin. The feeling is gone as quickly as it came and it could only have been his tongue. She wonders what he tastes on her, what her pheromones give way, excitement, fear, the slow burn of arousal.

 

It’s hard not to think of him, her Doctor, with his scent in the air and his tweed coat catching on her dress and his lips so close to her hearts. She doesn’t want to think about if he wants this, wants her. She hoped they would have spoken about it by now, thought they’d have collapsed under the weight of their silence, that they’d tumble into bed after a screaming match, their union as violent as two universes colliding. But he never said a word, so neither did she, and now she’s here. With him, but not. The metal adorning his cheeks scratches at her skin and she can’t help but think how it isn’t the Doctor’s hands that grip her like he’s falling, not really. The lips on her chest aren’t the ones that kissed her shattered wrist, and maybe this is a blessing. Maybe she can have this one more time, have him before he leaves her behind like he does all the others, before their days are done.

 

She pulls him closer by reflex, her nails digging further into his skin, clawing at his scalp. It’s a greedy pleasure that makes a shiver run down her spine. Clever seems to welcome the way she wants to rob him of breath. He wants her to take and steal and smother. He’s everything her Doctor isn’t, cruel and lecherous and cold and she never thought that something so wrong would feel so right. The revelation awakens something in her soul she keeps hidden. Clever must notice because he nips at her chest. In warning or approval, River isn’t sure. She doesn’t rightly care. She takes what she wants free of guilt and it feels so good she can’t help but take a little more.

 

Then again, maybe _good_ isn’t the word to describe the way she grinds down into him. It’s selfish and wanton and beseeching in a way she never is with the Doctor. The man beneath her now digs his fingers into her hips like his prints are a brand, like she’s putty he can shape and mold and keep pressed up against him in any way he desires.

 

River isn’t sure how they came to be so close, but his lips brush against hers, a feather, a finger on a trigger as he says, “I can touch you in ways you’ve always dreamed he would. All you have to do is ask.”

 

He’s trying to distract her, she knows, trying to throw her off her game, make her forget the world around them and the danger she’s in. And damn, how the dark, reckless, self-destructive parts of her want to let him. The threat only seems to make her pulse race faster, the promise of him festering in her mind, growing more tangible with every breath that tastes like him. He places a chaste kiss to her jaw, deceptive as a nightshade berry. River relaxes into it like a willing victim, his breath on her skin a toxin. She moves toward the warmth of him as he stretches up to meet her, their lips pulled to one another like gravity. His mouth brushes hers and all inhibitions are lost, a rubber band snapping and the whole of creation falling into place. Maybe it’s the current in the air or the pheromones that fill her like a drug, or maybe it’s simply because she hasn’t been with him, like this, in far too long, but it’s easier than she thought it would be- kissing a him that isn’t him.

 

Time is still and there’s nothing but the bubble in which they exist, where mouths and hands take what they need. It’s a darker universe than the one she knows. Poison still lingers on his lips and an inorganic current dances over his skin like static. He grabs her harder than her Doctor would but it’s his hands on her skin and her body thrills at the touch, heat scorching  through her like wildfire. Calloused fingers gripping, scratching, tugging, and it’s just the sane side of feral. She shouldn’t like it as much as she does, the darkness. She’s always loved a thrill, her life in his hands time and time again. But these aren’t his hands right now, are they.

 

Her hands don’t feel like her own, either. Her nails scratch harder, her teeth sink deeper, dolling out punishment, seeking retribution she didn’t know she wanted. Rocking against him until he growls and retaliates by clawing down her back, marking her through the fabric of her dress. She gasps, arching into the rough touch like the sting of it is penance. He holds her to him, but not out of love, attempting to control her with teeth and greedy kisses.

 

These hands have never touched her like this, like she is just a wild thing in need of taming. Her Doctor is always gentle with her, always kissing her like it’s their last, like she’s glass that will shatter if he holds too hard, like dust slowly spilling through his fingers. He touches her like she is some deity sent to save him, some holy spirit in need of worship. And some days, it’s exactly what she needs.

 

The early days were when she needed it most, when her insides were constantly screaming, good and evil and right and wrong just shades of grey behind eyes that only saw red. She needed his gentle caress then. She needed him to teach her to be soft. But she’s older now, wiser. And colder, too. Maybe now she needs the storm and not the savior. Maybe that’s why his hot breath on her neck sets her insides on fire. Maybe the way he bites and claws are what she needs to remember that her days with him aren’t yet done, that they aren’t ticking slowly to an end, that he won’t be bored of her now all her mysteries are unraveled, that he won’t be sick at the sight of her now that his precious Ponds are gone. Maybe her nails tear at his flesh because she needs him to be angry or sorry or anything but distant and soft. She wants him to fight her, because if he doesn’t, what’s the point of staying?

 

His hips thrust beneath her, demanding to be free and River thrills at the control she has over him. He is her prisoner and yet danger hums like a live wire beneath her skin. Her teeth sink into the lobe of his ear, that secret place that makes him shake. He responds in kind, rough hands holding her hostage by her shoulders before one burns its way across her chest and clavicle and slides up towards her hair when-

 

That burning grip wraps around her throat, squeezing with intent. Oxygen stalls in her chest and River’s hands snap up, desperate for purchase as they coil around his wrist in attempt to tear him free. His hold is merciless, those steady, time lord hands unfaltering as River tries to break free. The more she struggles, the more he constricts. Her ears ring and her flushed cheeks throb at the lack of circulation. There’s a look in his eyes, as hungry for flesh as it is for her life, and it only makes the adrenaline in her veins pump harder, oxygen burning in her chest. His wrist is taut beneath her, bones like steel but his skin is supple, easily marked as her claws take anchor around his wrist and forearm.

 

Whatever pain she may be causing, he neither notices nor cares, too caught up in the way she gasps for something he refuses to give, a depraved smirk twisting his lips, eyes manic as taunting words roll off his tongue in a slow hiss. “Say please.”

 

The command makes her bristle and she’d slap him again if she thought it’d do any good, if her struggling didn’t bring him joy. Instead, River pulls back, but not to escape. She releases one hand from his wrist to reach for her boot, frantic fingers digging. She finds her prize exactly where she left it, and River draws her hand up slowly, detonator clasped firmly in her palm. Clever’s eyes lock onto the object immediately, smirk falling the moment he sees her thumb hovering over the trigger. Her threat is clear and those dark, scathing eyes snap back to her face, studying her.

 

Whatever he finds there must be convincing, because in the next moment, he concedes, releasing his vise grip. River coughs and sputters, despite her best efforts. His hands drop to his sides, lifeless. Adrenaline still pumps furiously through her veins, her head light and lungs heaving their relief. The thrill she felt a moment ago has subsided, making way for determination as she cautiously slides the trigger back into her boot before getting to her feet.

 

Their gaze is locked in an iron stare as she backs away, and she never thought she’d see the day she was glad to be free of the Doctor’s touch. Even as he smirks at her retreat, Clever’s eyes are dark with lust and anger. In that moment, it’s clear he isn’t a man or a metal machine. He’s something worse, and maybe it’s the blood still rushing to her brain, but her knees threaten to buckle under the weight of such a revelation.

 

The Doctor can’t be allowed to leave this room with that monster inside of him.

 

Her iron nerves shaken in a way they seldom ever are, River backs away slowly, eyes locked with his in a dangerous bluff. The adrenaline in her veins recedes with every step backward, but the fire in her core isn’t so easily extinguished. She wonders if he can sense it, the way arousal and fear battle for dominance inside her blood. 

 

He’s still breathing heavily when she takes her seat across from him, eyes boring into her as she keeps her word and sacrifices her Bishop. “This is pointless. You know that, don’t you?” Victory bites at her with every word, but he doesn’t fix his tousled hair or straighten his crooked bow tie the way her husband would. He’s never looked less like her Doctor than when he says, “There’s no way out of this.”

 

“That’s where you’re wrong,” River argues, more defiant than any sane soul ought to be in her position. But then again, a sane soul wouldn’t dance with monsters as eagerly as she does. A sane soul wouldn’t keep such deadly solutions so close to her heart.  “There’s always a way out.”

 

“Like there was for your parents?” His question strikes her like a slap to the face. River bristles, hiding her haunted eyes and replacing them with something worse. Anger rises in her throat like bile, a new wave of fury, at the angels for taking what was hers, at the Cyber Planner for daring to tear open such fresh wounds, at the Doctor for letting him. He doesn’t deserve to speak of them, and if she were close enough she’d slap their names right off his lips.

 

Instead, she leans forward, one hand falling to her lap while the other reaches for the blaster still splayed across the marble table. Her fingers trace across the hilt in soothing little circles, nails a gentle caress around the barrel.

 

“Tell me,” he tries her patience, watching the slow seduction with calculating eyes. “Do you miss them?”

 

He breaks his stare, meeting her eyes, and in that moment, River swears the only thing keeping her from pulling the trigger is the familiar way his fringe flops over his eyes. River sets her jaw, answering his question with her own, “Does he?”

 

Clever simply smirks, hoarding the answer they both already know. They haven’t spoken of her parents since Manhattan. It’s been a silent wedge between them, a hole filling up with all the things they don’t or can’t or refuse to say.

 

“He blames you,” he states, spilling the words like a dark secret. It stings, and a bitter smile cuts across River’s lips like a scar.

 

“Funny that,” she shrugs. “I blame him.”

 

But it’s merely a distraction because beneath the table, her assassin’s hands are doing the real work, exploiting a local resource of her own. With slow and careful movements, River reaches into the pocket on her belt. Expert fingers find their prize, folding a small vile into the palm of her hand.

 

Her hand above the table occupies his attention, nails tapping like a pendulum on her blaster. Out of sight, her fingers toy with a potion contained by fragile glass. The liquid is mostly clear, and for the casual observer, it appears as innocent as perfume. A faint pink hue staining the meniscus is the only indication of the nearly instantaneous death waiting inside. It’s one of the most painful toxins this side of Andromeda. Just a drop is enough to cripple the pulmonary system of a man twice her size. Even breathing too close to an open bottle has been known to cause respiratory attacks, but when in contact with the skin, it’s almost always fatal.

 

Outside there are screams and she tries not to care about the soldiers dropping like flies just beyond these doors. She tries not to let her humanity be mistaken for weakness, her caution confused with hesitation. Because she’ll do what she has to, always. And if the Doctor can’t fight his way back from beneath the Cyber Planner’s shadow, then this is the only way out.

 

“You’re bleeding,” she states calmly, eyes following his wrist as it retreats with her bishop.

 

Clever glances at the scratches that now adorn his forearm, taking notice of them for the first time. “A little something to remember you by. How quaint.” He smirks, gaze falling to her neck, tracing the bruises there with wanton eyes. “Hope you don’t mind that I left a parting gift of my own.”

 

The print burns like he’s wrapped around her all over again, her lips tingling for reasons best left ignored. “Most girls prefer jewelry, just for future reference.”

 

“But not you though,” he leans forward, voice low and knuckles white as they grip either side of the table. “You prefer fire to flowers. I saw it in your eyes. You gladly took punishment but refused to say please. Not even to save your life.”

 

He’s more entranced than scornful, more fascinated than disgusted. River can’t help the way her eyes bat knowingly, smile smug as she reiterates, “As I told you, I don’t beg.”

 

She completes her next move easily, pieces falling beautifully into place. Clever seems less concerned, their game falling to be back of his mind as his eyes unfocus, regurgitating some far away memory.

 

“I’m trying to fight it but I can’t. It’s too strong,” a monotone voice flows from his lips and River’s eyes widen, every fiber of her being on alert. Her lips part, _Doctor?_ on her tongue when- “Please, my love, please, please just run.”

 

River pales, throat suddenly as dry as the desert she stood on, her own words, emotionless and static, echoing in her ears as Clever blinks back into the now.

 

“He’s noticed, you know,” the Cyber Planner continues, a cruel twinge infecting his tone. “How you’re always telling him to run away but never to stay. You plead with him to save his own life, but never yours. Why is that?” he taunts, quirking a witting eyebrow. “Are you scared he’ll say no?”

 

“I don’t now, nor have I ever needed the Doctor to save me.” Her declaration is raw and unwavering, as sure as the fixed point he threw in her face. Every word of it is true, because a long time ago in an orphanage she learned, “Life lesson number one: want something done right, do it yourself.”

 

“You don’t need him, then?” In that moment, his voice is so low, eyes so soft and guarded she wonders which one of them wants to know.

 

The core of her turns cold, the ice around her hearts thickening like a shield. Her lips part and she swears there’s a chill in the air around her and she breathes, “No.” The confession is weighted and fragile because she isn’t sure she would even know how to ask for help, not when she’s become far too accustomed to giving it. “There’s a difference between need and want.”

 

“And what _do_ you want?”

 

“I suppose, what I really want,” she hesitates, before flashing a casuistic smile. “Is to get the bloody hell off this rock.”

 

“The way I see it,” he scoffs, his attempts to lure her in ineffective. Moving another piece flippantly across the board, he bargains, “You can either limp on and die in this dusty old room or you can fold right now, hand over the TARDIS key, and I’ll let you speak to him one more time before I drain the life from your eyes.”

 

“There’s no point. I already know exactly what he’d say.” A barrage of _please_ s and _dont_ s and _not like this_ would tumble off his tongue like mantra. And she’d ignore him as she always does in order to do what has to be done. “The truth is, Mr. Clever, you haven’t the faintest idea who you’re dealing with.”

 

Voice as unforgiving as her stare, River makes a move, her pawn moving into position to capture his queen on her next turn.

 

“So let me offer _you_ a deal,” her proposal is  confident and threatening, a lifeline laced with dynamite. “You sacrifice your queen and I’ll tell you what you wanted to know. I’ll tell you why I love him and hate him all in the same moment, how I can be the woman who murdered him and married him.”

 

Clever hesitates for the first time, skeptical eyes trained on her. “Why would I want to make such a trade?”

 

“Because emotions are new to you and you can’t run a program you can’t comprehend.”

 

“Why would you do that, help me unravel your _precious_ Doctor?”

 

River’s lips part slowly, all his answers on the tip of her tongue but all she says is, “Going once...” The man across from her hardens, a subtle twitch as his synapses fire, running game calculations under duress. River gives him no time to think, to work out the stats, growing more bored by the millisecond as she threatens, “Going twice..”

 

“Fine!” the Cyber Planner blurts out, and it must be impulse or pure curiosity because in the pause between heart beats, he reaches across the table and positions his queen to be taken. “Deal.”

 

River bites back a smirk, capturing his queen. “Emotions are funny things,” she begins, slowly and methodically unscrewing the cap to her vial in secret. “Love and hate, particularly. One makes you strong and the other makes you weak. Still haven’t figured out which is which.”

 

Explosions from outside begin to rattle the windows, doors threatening to crack as the building quivers on its foundation. Their small room remains quiet, his eyes on her mouth as the cap falls to the ground, the sound lost in the cacophony of war.

 

“I’m both because I have to be. You can come into this world numb to emotions. You can wall them off and erase every ounce of humanity inside you, but no matter how strong your defenses are, once emotions break past them, there’s no going back. Once they’re in, they’ll get the best of you, make you impulsive and curious. You can’t have love without hate, no victory without sacrifice.” Covering the mouth of the vial with her thumb, River tilts the potion upside down, letting the poison soak into her skin. “I was doomed to love him the moment they taught me to hate.” 

 

It bites like a sunburn, hot and cold, tender and numb, ice on fire as it makes it way into her bloodstream, the effects of the toxin already ravaging her veins. Even as her nerve endings scream, River doesn’t flinch. She can’t, she mustn’t because his eyes are still set on her when he makes his next move, far more focused on her words than the game as he sneers, “And how does that help me?”

 

She blinks, innocent. “Whoever said anything about helping? I’m telling you that you can’t have his mind and his memories without his weaknesses too.” Her words settle, a calm before a hurricane, somehow hiding the strain in her voice as she continues, “Now, what you need to understand about the Doctor, is that he loves a puzzle. Rule one on getting his attention: Don’t make sense, be a walking contradiction.”

 

It isn’t a smile on her lips as River leans toward the table to make her counter move. There’s too many teeth to call it cordial, mouth so taut she may as well be snarling.

 

“You may know chess, but I know the Doctor and by now you’ll have integrated enough of his mind to have more morbid curiosity than an alley cat with a death wish. Over confidence has always been his kryptonite. He’s got a God complex with a side order of guilt. It’s why he erased himself and it’s why you’ve lost the game. He thought he was invincible, and he was wrong.”

 

River slides her piece into place, pinning his King between her Queen and her pawn. Clever’s face falls at the realization he’s been cornered, blindsided by human curiosity. No matter where he moves, he’s hers.

 

A wry smile curls River’s cheeks, pleasure of victory overriding the pain laying waste to her insides as she declares, “Checkmate.”

 

“Clever girl,” he hums, impressed and lascivious, tongue snaking out to wet his lips.

 

Her own lips feel numb and distant, her vision going fuzzy, but she never even blinks as she extends her hand to him expectantly. “We had a deal.”

 

“So we did,” he purrs, conceding as he reaches out to her. It doesn’t feel like surrender when his hand wraps around hers. Her palms are clammy, but he doesn’t seem to care, a smirk curling his cheeks as his eyes fall closed. Tiny clicks precede a mechanical hiss as vines of metal disconnect from her husband’s face. One by one they coalesce into tiny mites, abandoning their home on his temple and charging down his arm and toward their clasped hands.

 

When they reach her, the mites scatter across her skin like a plague. A tingle gives way to a burn as tiny needle-like legs dance across her nerve endings. It takes every ounce of willpower she possesses not to jerk away, because they’re crawling, climbing, scorching up her shoulders and neck and cheek and temples. One pierces the base of her skull and for a moment she sees only white behind her eyes. In the next breath, it darkens to blue. It’s cold like ice and metal and the empty voids of space. A hundred or a thousand or a million Cybermen scream inside her mind. Through the haze, she finds him grinning, a twitch of his head as he integrates and incorporates into her subconscious. Almost all the mites have left him now and she gives her mind without resistance. But she fights back the pain coursing through her veins, walling it off from her mind, all her remaining energy devoted to maintaining the mental block. He can’t know, mustn’t know, not until the Doctor’s safe, not until it’s too late, not until _the battle is won but the child is lost._

 

It’s her hearts that falter first, their fluttering erratic as her insides burn against the toxin in her veins. There’s a parasite in her mind and poison eating away at her organs and nothing feels like her own, limbs weak and thoughts distant. The last of the mites disconnect from the Doctor’s face and she must be pale because the grin he’s wearing slips. The Doctor’s jaw slacks in horror, her name like thunder as it spills from his mouth. Or maybe that’s the war outside or a thousand Cybermen banging on the door. It doesn’t matter now. They won’t get far without a planner. They’ll never make it off this rock once the Doctor sets his eyes on them.

 

Trouble is, he isn’t looking anywhere but her. She can only imagine what he sees, greying skin stretched over vibrant veins, rich with toxins. The vile slips from her hands, her muscles weak. River devotes the last of her strength to reaching for the sonic, pointing it at the rope that bind the Doctor until it frays and falls loosely around his frame. Frantic limbs wrestle with the ropes as he shakes himself free of the binds. 

 

River blinks, reality distorted and hazy, time skipping like a pebble across water. Metallic blue darkens her vision and she’s falling, slipping, sliding from her chair. The Doctor crosses the small space in time to catch her. His words are lost to the ringing in her ears, but his eyes are kind and it’s all the proof she needs that he’s back. He’s cradling her in his arms, him, her Doctor. The world around her fades to black, but he’ll be safe and nothing else matters.

 

***** 

 

There’s no ringing in her ears when she drifts back into consciousness. The hum of the ship the only sound she needs to know she’s _safe, home._ She doesn’t have to open her eyes to know she’s in their bedroom. The smell of time and biscuits is enough to inform her she’s wrapped in warm sheets. It’s the shuffling of feet on carpeted floor that surprises her, that tells her she’s not alone.

 

She isn’t sure where she expected him to be, perhaps tinkering beneath the console or doing laps in the pool or inventing a new screwdriver or anywhere that wasn’t by her side. He skipped over sleepy Sundays and recovering hospital stays for the same reason he refused to speak of her parent’s grave. They were human things. Human things meant endings and he was never one to savor small moments.

 

And yet, as River’s tired eyes flutter open, they find the Doctor hovering near the foot of the bed. A smile tugs her lips at the delightfully unexpected sight, unable to recall the last time she awoke to the sound of his pacing feet. Arching her back and stretching, River greets him before he worries a hole in the floor. “Good morning, sweetie.”

 

He falters, eyes wide in relief before his jaw sets and his face hardens to stone. “No, it is _not_ a good morning.”

 

He’s upset, and River sighs, pretending it doesn’t bother her that the only emotion he shows honestly anymore is irritation. Tossing the covers away and preemptively planning her escape, River jests, “It’s not everyday a girl comes back from the dead. Pardon my enthusiasm.”

 

He blanches at her easy tone. “You didn’t..” he starts, but he chokes on the final word, saying instead, “I got you to the TARDIS med bay in time.”

 

River hums, intentionally indifferent, looking anywhere but him. “Lucky me. And the soldiers?”

 

“Safe.”

 

“The planet?” When he doesn’t answer, River’s gaze cuts to him, watching as he shakes his head, eyes downcast. It seems the bomb came in handy after all. River nods, satisfied. “Probably for the best.”

 

It’s quiet for a moment and she thinks that maybe that’s the end of it, that this is just another incident that will float by undiscussed, that it’ll be just one more day they don’t talk about, that gets buried in the grave between them when-

 

“Did you mean what you said, about not valuing human lives?”

 

Her hairs stand on end, his question a loaded gun. Rather than be baited, River adorns her mask of nonchalance, eyes rolling, a well-worded defense ready and waiting. He beats her to the punch, drowning her evasive excuses before they ever breach her lips. 

 

“Would you have done it?” he repeats more firmly. “Would you have killed all those people?” He’s so harsh, so set in his stare, it’s clear he knows the truth before it ever leaves her lips.

 

“If I had to.” It isn’t a confession or an admission of guilt, and the blatancy of her skewed moral compass makes the Doctor fume, hands balling into fists. "Luckily," she sighs, flashing a tight-lipped smile. "I'm a helluva lot better at chess than you are."

 

“Did it even occur to you to leave me behind?” There’s tension in his frame as he gives her a chance to explain herself, to justify her actions with some excuse he hasn’t foreseen.

 

River lets his offer fall to the floor, her voice deceptively light and nowhere near as harsh as the protective fire inside her. “No.” The answer falls easily from her lips, unashamed as she admits that he is her first priority. Always. “The threat needed to be neutralized, and the quickest way to kill a parasite is to kill the host.”

 

The Doctor works his jaw, swallowing around a truth he likes to ignore. There’s a steadiness about him, a forced calm that makes her uneasy as he grits out, “And you didn’t just poison me because…?”

 

“Tried that, but _someone’s_ been making himself immune to my lipsticks,” River accuses, arching a pointed brow until he looks away, flushing with guilt. She refuses to voice the truth, that some risks just aren’t worth taking, choosing instead to dismiss the matter entirely. “It doesn’t matter. I knew you’d find a way to save the day.”

 

“But what if I didn’t?!” he snaps, words like a whip, his shouts cracking at the space between them. But there’s something beneath the anger, something feral and raw. It’s fear, she realizes, hands clenched not out of fury, but to keep from shaking.

 

When she rebuts, her tone is dignified and composed, carrying all the grace he lacks. “You always do.”

 

“Not always, River, not every time.” The shadows in his eyes speak of angels and graveyards and the reminder hisses against her hearts like a brand. “What you did was reckless and risky and-“

 

“I knew I would be fine,” she cuts him off because she can’t bear to hear the blame in his voice.

 

“How could you possibly know that? You had no guarantee!”

 

He’s scolding her like a child and River wants to scream that he more or less told her that today wasn’t her last, that he put a qualifier on her life that she can never unhear, a black mark that can never be wiped clean. He’s staring down at her expectantly and she wants her words to cut him until his hearts hurt as much as hers, until it’s heavy with the consequences of his words. But she doesn’t. Instead, River swallows her pain and quietly mutters, “I just did.”

 

It settles around them like the dust that’s no doubt gathering in her parents old room, like the brittle pages of her diary and all those fragile things that tell of times ending. He understands what she means. She can tell by the way his eyes break from hers, scanning anywhere and anything because the sight of her is too much to bear, that whatever it is he knows, he’d like desperately to forget.

 

“Sometimes we have to make sacrifices.” The words form of their own volition, unsure if she intends to soothe or reprimand, if she means today’s events or tomorrow’s tragedy. “You know that better than most.”

 

“Not the queen,” he snaps, and River’s brow furrows, confused, because she hadn’t- “Never her,” he finishes, and his eyes are heavier than a carved wooden trinket. He means more than a chess piece and he’s spoken too quick, given away too much, eyes speaking more than he’d like her to know.

 

Or maybe it’s exactly what he wants her to hear. River scoffs, dismissing any lingering intent. “Don’t be so sentiment-“

 

But before she can even finish the sentence, he’s had enough of the bickering, of the pretense, of the space between them because the next thing River knows, he’s grabbing her and shoving her against the wall. His hands on her shoulders are a vise, fingers digging deep enough to bruise. She slams back against the wall so hard the wind is knocked from her lungs. When she opens her eyes, wide with rage and shock, she finds herself silenced by the sight of him.

 

There’s no purple hue around them this time, no Cyber Planner to come between them, nothing to distract from the way his body is flush against hers. His heaving chest presses into hers, his pupils darker than they ought to be in the light of their bedroom. The sight of him steals her breath as much as the assault had. She doesn’t fight him, only stares, waiting, watching as his jaw works in that way it only ever does when he’s about to speak words he wishes he could swallow.

 

“Don’t trivialize this, River. You call it sentiment like that’s all I know how to feel, like you don’t understand that I…” He shuts his eyes, jaw clenched like he’s trapping in a terrible secret. When his body finally relaxes, the Doctor lets out a long sigh, opening his eyes as he continues, “I need you, River. Even if you don’t need me.”

 

The room is so silent she swears she hears her own hearts break. Or maybe it’s his she hears shattering in his chest, but either way, she’s breathless as she says, “Of course I need you. Wherever did you get that idea?”

 

He looks away and it’s then she sees the words she spoke before are written across the lines of his face like brail. _Oh, he is such an idiot._

 

River’s almost laughing as she continues, “I was bluffing, you daft man.”

 

“Were you?” And his once vulnerable eyes are sharp when they snap back to her. “I’m the one who asked you to travel with me. I’ve been asking you for help since the moment you met me, even before you knew your own name. Can you name one time when you’ve done the same, when you’ve asked me for anything even remotely selfish?”

 

She blinks at him, confused, wondering where this is coming from. Why now, after all these years, is he suddenly questioning how things have always been? She was never knowingly selfish, not with him. The universe already asked so much from him. She’s seen him give and give until there’s nothing left, seen him stay and fight when he’d rather run. She swore from the start that she would never be that, refused to be just another burden he had to bear. “If one has to ask for it, how does one know it’s freely given?”

 

His brow pinches like her words cause him pain, ancient and broken as those old man eyes plead, “How will I know what to give if you never tell me?”

 

The rawness of his stare quiets her, lips parting but no words forming, her tongue frozen and heavy because she’s always thought the answers he seeks were rather obvious.

 

Her silence seems to spur his prying thoughts, speaking more to the empty air between them than to her as he breathes,  “You told him things you would never tell me. And the way you kissed him..”

 

“ _You_ ,” River corrects, every atom inside her suddenly alert. “It was you I was kissing. You were just… different.”

 

They both know she means darker, deadlier, and he casts his eyes down, looking up at her through shy lashes. “You enjoyed it, the _difference_?”

 

River can’t say exactly when the tides turned,  when the mood shifted, when the air around them grew heavy, when he stopped chastising her and began loathing himself. This close, she can read his facial twitches like an old book, decipher the wrinkles on his brow like hieroglyphs on a dusty tomb. There’s no denying the self-deprecation in his eyes. She hates it, hates herself for being the reason the lines around his mouth tug downward.

 

She’d do anything to see him smile again, and maybe that’s why her eyes sparkle with no shy amount of mirth as she purrs, “What can I say? I like to live dangerously.”

 

The Doctor isn’t amused, stoic as stone as his fingers slide up her arm and over her shoulder until they spread, his thumb near the hollow of her throat and his fingers resting over her pulse point. “Is that so?” he rumbles, low, and the look in his eyes is enough to make her pulse skip. He hasn’t looked at her like that since _before_ , and she was beginning to doubt he ever would again.

 

“Doctor,” his name slips out in a dry, hollow laugh. “You don’t have to-“

 

“I want to," he interrupts, his thumb applying the slightest bit of pressure. River remains silent, watching his eyes as they focus on his own hands. Both caress their way up her neck to bury in her hair. He keeps her pinned against the wall as his mouth inches closer to hers, his breath ghosting over her lips. “I want you to be selfish. Can you do that for me, River? I’m always begging you for things, to trust me, to help me. I’m always taking. Just this once, will you tell me what you want?”

 

She nods, slowly, as much as his grip on her curls will allow. He inches closer before stalling, daring her to make the final move. River accepts his challenge gladly, pulling against the iron grip on her hair to kiss him. When their mouths meet, his lips are soft but insistent as he works his mouth against hers. It feels like coming home, like nothing has changed.

 

Except… he tastes sweeter than usual and it’s only when she pulls away and fresh air bites at her lips like peppermint that her eyes fly wide, fingers wiping at her lips. “You poisoned me.”

 

Her husband is grinning as he says, “Don’t be dramatic. It’s a nerve enhancer, a mild aphrodisiac at best. It’s hardly poison.”

 

She’s still gaping at him when she blurts, “Why?”

 

“Just using my local resources,” he shrugs, as if his premeditated actions are nothing, as if her curiosity doesn’t burn to know why he’s apparently not only immunizing himself to her drugs, but also experimenting with his own for the soul purpose of putting her at his mercy. River isn’t usually on the receiving end of such tactics and his playful deception gnaws at her insides as much as the calloused fingers skimming down her arms, awakening her nerves. It tickles, warm and feather light, from her shoulders down to the tips of her fingers. River fights a shiver, a grin threatening the Doctor’s cheeks. He hides his delight by burying his face into her neck as he continues, “Because I have a feeling driving you mad is the only way to get you to cooperate.”

 

His breath is hot as it ghosts over sensitive skin, the same rush as before sinking into her bones. River hums in approval, eager palms sliding over his waistcoat, exploring his abdomen and coming to rest above his hearts. He’s always been good with his hands, a tinkerer long before he was a Doctor, and those skilled fingers find a home on her hips, the feel of him burning her through her dress as he pins her against the wall.

 

“Tell me what you want.” The demand lights a spark deep in her belly and a mischievous chuckle rumbles in River’s throat as her hands curl into the collar of his shirt.

 

“Take me to bed,” she coos, hiding any vulnerability by making a show of how her body arches into his.

 

The Doctor stops her overly sensual display, nipping at her throat in warning. The drug on her lips is a nerve enhancer indeed, because the sharpness of his teeth strikes through her body like lightning. No pleasure without pain and River shivers for new and delicious reasons. The Doctor lifts his eyes to meet hers, pinning her with the weight of his stare. “Say it like you mean it.”

 

River blinks, the devilish grin falling from her face, taking her defenses with it. The hands clutched in his lapels loosen, the breath in her lungs heavier, deeper, more sincere as she whispers, “Take me to bed, Doctor.”

 

He complies, hands still on her hips as he lures her from the wall and guides her backwards to the bed. River follows obediently, letting him positions her to his liking. He never stops touching her as he turns her towards the bed, away from him so her back is pressed into his front. The knuckles of one hand trail down her back, tickling her side, while the other skirts over her shoulders and up to her sensitive throat. Purposeful fingers stray into her hair, balling into a fist. He tugs ever so slightly, willing her back to rest on his shoulder, throat exposed. River can't help but wonder if the shape of his hand is still written across her neck in purples and blues, if the thought of it thrills him as much as it does her.

 

“You liked the way he touched you,” her Doctor breathes, both hands straying back to her shoulders, holding her in position, not a prison but a shelter. His voice in her ear is a deadly secret, Pandora’s box of sin and unspoken need. “Would you like me to do that now?”

 

“Yes,” she breathes, intoxication and need exhaled in one quiet breath.

 

“Then tell me," he insists, gripping tighter, as if her secrets are kept just beneath her skin.

 

“My chest,” is all she manages, and it’s all the instructions he needs for his hands to follow the path that Clever’s took. Fingertips trace her clavicle and down between her hearts. They catch on the zipper of her dress and he holds tight to the offending object, dragging it downward as he goes.

 

Cool air kisses her flushed skin, ice on a sunburn as the Doctor’s aphrodisiac swings into full effect.

 

“Hold me,” River commands, and it’s only when one arm pulls her flush against him, steadying her, and the other slips inside her dress to cup her breast that she realizes she’s trembling. Calloused hands kneed at her plump flesh, paying special attention to her nipple, rolling it between his fingers until it pebbles under his touch.

 

It’s not the grip of the Cyber Planner. The pressure is absent of malicious intent, but there’s no denying what these hands are capable of. The hand steadying her digs into her hip bones as he plants open-mouthed kisses down her neck, leaving damp marks in his wake. His touch burns like fire and when he growls and sinks his teeth into her flesh, it occurs to her that this is the man that burned Pompeii, that butchered the Bone Meadows, and buried his own people. He’s a Beast and a Storm and a Valeyard, and it shouldn't thrill her but it does.

 

“What next?”  his words are a distant hum in her ears, a rumble almost lost in euphoria.

 

“Lower,” is all she manages. The Doctor abandons her breasts, obeying her command. His fingers find the zipper again, dragging it lower as they slip down down down. He reaches her thighs, balling her dress into his fists and she feels how the fabric bends to his will, how it crumples and climbs just to be closer to his touch. He tightens his grip, demanding closeness as he presses himself into her backside.

 

She can feel the promise of him through his trousers and a moan slips through her lips without her consent. Encouraged, he travels lower, the hands on her thighs burning her with their gentleness. River’s hands search for him, clutching at anything she can, nails digging into his thigh as the other reaches behind to card through his hair as best she can. He runs those long fingers over the places Clever had been, soft where the other had been calculated. It’s darkness mingled with light, and River fights the urge to collapse into him, knees going weak.

 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, one hand loosening its grip and abandoning its post on her thigh as it ascends, gentle fingers folding around her throat, applying the faintest bit of pressure.

 

His question floats to her through a haze of pleasure. River holds tight to the sound of his voice, managing a fragile,  “Tell you what?”

 

His other hand drags across her thigh, no hesitance in his movements as he finds her core, none too gently cupping her through her dress, immobilizing her. “That this is what you wanted.”

 

The fingers around her throat flex, the slightest bit of pressure, as the ones at her core begin to circle her bundle of nerves. It rocks through her, tendrils of lightning spreading from her hair to her toes, clouding her thoughts. River’s sure she’d choke on her answer even at the best of times. But now, with his fingers working their magic, he may as well have asked her for the moon. River swallows, her throat tight against his palm. “I didn’t know how.”

 

But what she means is, she doesn’t know if she can. She still doesn’t. Not that he would be unwilling to give anything her hearts desire, but after a lifetime of holding her tongue, she isn’t sure she knows how to ask. In many ways, she was imprisoned by her fierce independence, and after a lifetime of being prisoner, she isn’t sure she knows how to be free.

 

But the Doctor has never been a patient man, and it’s no surprise to her when he begins to relieve her from the confines of her clothing. He undresses her slowly, dragging the fabric over her shoulders. She can’t see his face, still positioned cleverly behind her, and River can’t help but wonder if he planned it this way, if he’s hiding part of himself even as he strips her bare.

 

With nothing but shaky breathes to disturb the air, the soft crumpling of her dress as it puddles around her feet may as well be thunder in the nearly silent room. He runs his hands over her, dancing across her exposed shoulder blades and following the curves of her back. His lips press a kiss to the back of her neck and her skin sings, his touch like velvet but her nerves sting like needles. And then the heat of him is gone and River fights the urge to turn, to make sure he’s still there, that his touch is more than a phantom and his words are more than a fever dream. Her worries are quelled with a kiss, chastely pressed into the dimples on her lower back.

 

“Turn around,” he commands and River does so gladly.

 

She finds him kneeling before her, a sinner at the alter, heavy eyes begging for salvation. River grants it the only way she knows how, absolution on her fingers as they card through his hair and over his cheek. It’s free of metal now, but there’s no unseeing the scars it left, invisible to the naked eye but written on his soul.

 

She watches him watch her. The effects she has on him unmistakable. He's giving the commands, but there's something in his eyes, intensity, not possession. He doesn't look at her like he owns her, more like she owns him, like he exists around her the way the earth does the sun. It makes her dizzy. So long she was a weapon, a bullet, not a hand on the trigger. She was a purpose, not a person. To think someone could ever look at her the way he does is too much. He makes her feel powerful, strong, worth something. She can make the mighty Time Lord kneel.

 

Those ancient, capable hands caresses up her calves and thighs like he is a sculptor and she a masterpiece, his fingers dipping below the band of her knickers like a painter perfecting his canvas. River flushes hot and cold all over and maybe it’s the drugs and the way they make her whole body hyper aware, but she’s never felt more like Eve, like he is the apple she wants to sink her teeth into, the darkness of his thoughts the truth that will unravel mankind.

 

Her knickers fall to the floor without a sound and River steps out of them gladly. The warmth of his palms take their place, skimming up her inner thighs, spreading her legs as he reminds her to, “Tell me what you want.”

 

The softly spoken request makes her knees threaten to buckle. She’s never been one in need of much encouragement, especially not when it came to vocalizing her pleasure. Normally, she was unashamed in her wanton moans and throaty cries. She usually took what she wanted with thrusting hips and greedy hands and a wicked tongue.

 

But this time, it’s different.

 

She wants everything, his mouth, his hands, his hearts. She wants more than his tongue in secret places and the empty promises he always whispers. She wants more than awkward silences and the pretense of _fine_. She wants him by her side, always. She wants him buried inside her, beneath flesh and bones. She wants him in ways their timelines simply won’t allow. But there’s no way to tell him that, no words that would do her wants justice. “You,” is all she manages. “I want you.”

 

“How?” He asks, because _where_ is something he already knows. “How do you want me?”

 

“Desperately,” she sighs and it sounds like begging if ever her lips were capable of such.

 

Her Doctor leans down, about to give her shaking body everything it wants when he pauses, his lips and tongue failing to comply. “Say please.”

 

His words are so soft she almost misses them, almost loses them to the thunder of her pulse. There’s a darkness to his demand, a danger. There’s trust she isn’t sure she wants to give, vulnerability she never wanted to reveal. She would give her life for the Doctor, that was no secret. Her years and blood and energy in her veins were hers to give, and give she did, time and time again. But asking is another thing entirely. Asking is weakness. It’s a risk even she has always refused to take, a height too tall to risk falling. _Please_ was a power she wasn’t sure she wanted to give. It’s surrender. What’s more is, if she asked him for this and he gave it to her willingly, she’s afraid she would never ever stop, terrified that requests she doesn’t dare dream of would spill from her lips like a dam longing to break.

 

His nose nudges her, tethering her thoughts. Her nerve endings scream at the sensation, at the promise that lies just beyond the barrier of her surrender.

 

“I,” she begins, a tenderness falling from her lips, barely disturbing the air around her. But she can’t bring herself to do it, she can’t give him what he wants. Instead, she surrenders in the only way she knows how, sighing out, “ _Sweetie.”_

 

It’s not what he asked of her. But it’s enough. He does as she requests, complying like he’s been waiting to do this his whole life, like he’s wanted to surrender to her wants and needs as if they belonged to him. And maybe they do. Maybe her happiness is tied to his own.

 

_You’re not the only one willing to burn the universe to change fate._

 

Clever’s words flood her brain and River tires not to think about the probability that he’s seen her final moments, that he’s atoning for a sin from long ago, that their happy ending may have been stolen and he’s shoving a lifetime into every moment he sees her. Maybe this is their ever after and he’s pressing forever into her skin with his kisses and calloused fingers. His teeth sink into her flesh like a promise and River holds tight to the pain like he’ll be hers as long as her synapses burn, that she can keep him if only the scars on her body never fade.

 

“More,” she moans, and oh, she’s practically begging now. Falling and giving and surrendering.

 

He catches her as he always does, with rough hands digging into her hips, dragging her closer, claiming her with his tongue because nothing can drag her away as long as they’re like this. It’s freeing and liberating and terrifying how much he needs her, like she owns him and he’d burn whole worlds at her request.

 

Flashes of fire explode behind her eyes, flames hot enough to envy the heat licking at her insides. It’s unclear if it’s his mind or hers but the “ _could be_ ”s and “ _what if_ ”s of time intoxicate her very soul. An almost reality bubbles between them like magma, raw and lethal, and oh, the things he would do for her. 

 

She wonders what it is she does to him in her future, his past, that makes him so devoted her, so willing to risk his life simply to be in her company, so willingly lie down and accept whatever she throws his way, so eager to kiss the lips that would poison him. Maybe it's the same reason she finds herself pulled toward him, beyond reason or explanation, the universe guiding and binding them together in spite of their better judgement.

 

His tongue thrusts inside her, hauling her back to the moment, demanding her full attention. River gives it, a strangled, rasping cry on her lips as she rocks into his face, fingers tightening in his hair as proof of her need. The drug in her veins makes everything sharper, acutely aware of the curl of his fingers and the nip of his teeth. It’s all building, coiling, condensing inside her, and this must be what a star feels like on the brink of nova. She can feel it, the heat expanding, threatening to blow when-

 

Just as she reaches the peak, he stops.

 

A moan or a shout or a curse rips out of her throat, eyes flying open, chest heaving and pupils blow. The Doctor looks up at her from between her shaking thighs, and she can only imagine what he sees. Lust and love and the frayed edges of anger and all those idiosyncrasies that make her so very human.  And something ancient and faithful, too, the turn of time mingling with a wild, erratic nature that she could only have learned from the vortex.

 

Whatever it is he sees makes his eyes darken, drunk on power or lust, nothing on his tongue but the taste of her and the words, “Say please.”

 

 _Oh, that bastard_.

 

“Make me,” River all but growls, brow quirked.  

 

He stands upright in response, leaving behind the place she wants him most. The fingers of his left hand begin tracing up her arms and shoulders. They ghost over her collar and up her neck, coming to a stop as they frame her cheeks.

 

A tiny flash of cool air is her only warning before the sound of flesh on flesh rips through the air, his palm colliding with her cheek hard enough to make her skin burn. Her veins are on fire, like it’s acid rather than adrenaline that ravages her from within. Her insides ablaze as the undeniable taste of iron dances across her tongue.

 

The same palm soothes the flesh he struck and the soft contrast makes the core of her shudder, nearly undone. A gentle finger strokes over her eyes as they flutter shut, tracing down her nose, a tap of his fingers accentuating his words as he demands, “Say. Please.”

 

River’s eyes open, pupils blown and throat dry, as she challenges, “ _Make_ me.”

 

There’s a grin on his face as he pushes her back onto the bed. His mischief is infections and her own Cheshire Cat smile curls her cheeks as River watches her husband crawl toward her. Her hands seek him out on instinct, but as she reaches for him, the Doctor’s hands dart out to meet her, snatching up her wrists and pinning them behind her head. He plants himself firmly between her thighs, pressing a knee into her core. River hisses at the contact, the pressure, the friction that’s not quite enough.

 

“Is this what you want me to be?” He asks, towering above her, still fully clothed while she is bare beneath him. But behind his playful mask, he’s cloaked in a darkness that’s more melancholy than lust. The sight of it makes the fire in River’s core dampen to a dull roar, confusion setting in until, “More like him?”

 

She’s lost for words, mostly because she isn’t sure herself. She doesn’t know why her body sang under the touch of a man who cares nothing for her, why rough hands excite her more than gentle kisses. Maybe it’s all down to nurture, to the familiarity of cold weapons and cutting words. Maybe it’s all down to the tortured parts of her she lets out to play when she's feeling the most vulnerable, the ones that are so sure punishment is what she deserves. Or maybe it’s just easier this way, easier to let him go if he won’t miss her when she’s gone, easier to leave if she means nothing to him. Maybe it’s easier to convince herself her hearts don’t belong to him when the hands he touches her with are anything but soft.

 

Or maybe she’s just never been very good at being loved.

 

“I want you to be _you_.” River stresses, and what she means is: No fake smiles. No pretending to be fine. No more lies. 

 

“How can I when you only speak to me when we’re fighting?”

 

Her hearts break because she doesn’t know how to tell him that she picks fights because she wants him to fight for her, not with her, because these days, “The only time I see the real you is _when_ we’re fighting.”

 

Her words cut him. It’s not what she wanted, never what she wants, not with him. No matter where they are in their timelines, pain seems to come effortlessly to them, written in their bones, passed back and forth between them as naturally as atoms share electrons.

 

Their kisses come just as easily, and the Doctor proves it as he lowers his mouth to hers. His lips move in all the ways his tongue can’t, saying all the things he doesn’t know how. And when he breaks from her, the only thing left to say is, “He wasn’t lying, you know.” The Doctor's eyes are shut tight, the whisper of his breath all the more chilling when he mutters, “I would do terrible things to keep you.”

 

“I would never ask that of you.” She’s breathless, chest rising and falling to the metronome of her hearts, the deepest part of her crying out for more. Even now, she wants things from him but refuses to beg him for it. But the Doctor only stills, brow pinching like her honesty pains him, like he’s grateful and remorseful all in the same moment. River’s wrists flex, wishing they were free from his hold so she could cradle his face, because _she knows_. She knows exactly how it feels to be eaten alive by two conflicting forces, torn apart in all directions, by what you want and what you’re given, who you are and how you should be.

 

“You’ve always been the strong one.” He kisses his apology into her hair as if his love is a burden, and maybe it is. The look in his eyes is enough to give her chills, to rattle the bones of war lords and bring an empire to its knees. It’s only when he looks away, when he releases her from his hypnotic hold that River realizes it’s fear making a home inside her.

 

The realization frightens her, but not in the way one might expect, not because of commitment or fear of being hurt. She fears not for herself, but for the universe. The power she holds over him is the kind that topples empires and burns worlds. It’s dark and it’s desperate and it’s the kind of power no being should posses. And yet, she, of all souls, is left to decide the fate of the universe. Melody Pond, the child weapon, River Song, the woman reborn, she who was forged in fire, maybe she, so tainted with knowledge and sins, is the only one capable of baring the burden of the Time Lord's love. 

 

“And you’ll always be the good one,” she reminds him. “Remember that.”

 

He looks away from her then, nodding as the faintest hint of a smirk finds its way to his lips. “Not all the time,” His head bends down, breath hot on her neck. “I can be a little bad, when I’m with you.”

 

The thought makes her shudder, how far down they could sink together, the slippery slope that could become his moral code. _One psychopath per TARDIS, don’t you think?_ But right now, the promise of his kiss is too delicious turn away, and something hot and writhing forms in her belly as she arches beneath him. “Is that so?”

 

He dips lower and she feels him smirk against her throat as he sinks his teeth into her tender flesh, making her squirm. He proves that though he’s kind, he can be wicked too, that even saints can sin. His silver tongue swirls treacherous circles around her nipple, and he is both serpent and savior. His lips wrap around that same perky nub, sucking hard and dragging his teeth over her sensitive flesh, blurring the line between what’s good and what’s guilty, between blessing and damnation.

 

His knee presses harder into the heat of her, and River’s wrists flex against his iron grip. “Stop teasing me,” she bites out, turning her head to nip at his ear.

 

“Then tell me,” he growls back, licking and sucking his way across her chest. “Tell me what you need.”

 

This time, there’s no hesitance in River’s tongue as she spills her wants and desires. A dam has broken, giving way to secret thoughts and daydreams and all those wicked things she’d do if only her hands were free. The filth on her lips makes his body shudder, his forehead pressing against her chest, seeking refuge, his uneven breath hot on her skin.

 

He is weak but only for her, and it’s only a matter of time before he’s releasing one of her hands and purring out the command, ”Touch yourself.”

 

River does, eagerly, determined fingers snaking between her legs. She knows her body well, and that bundle of nerves throbs at her familiar touch. Lonely nights have taught her the quickest way to release and it isn’t long before she’s arching into her own hand, twisting and flicking and almost almost _almost._ She needs more and the angle is all wrong and the Doctor holds her prisoner like he _knows_. Her own touch isn’t enough to push her over the edge, not when he’s so close, not when his breath is on her breasts and his eyes are burning her skin.

 

“Say it,” he drawls out the command and it sounds like pleading or bargaining or begging. He needs it as much as she does. River finds that it isn’t just the rough hands that make her squirm. It’s the honesty, the peace and openness they have found in this quiet room. A truce. Tranquility.

 

“Touch me,” she whimpers. “Help me, Doctor.”  River’s body shakes, her breathing uneven and desperate as she finally takes a leap and sighs, “ _Please_.”

 

It’s the word she refused to say for Clever, a sentiment for the Doctor’s ears only. He’ll be the only one to see her this way, to ever hear such sweet surrender fall from her lips. He nearly sobs at the confession, shivering and stilling, locking her breathless plea down deep in his core, saving it for cold nights spent alone and all the days long gone he wishes he could change. When he wakes from his trance, something in him has changed. Something inside has snapped, a flood gate opened, and he bites into her neck, marking her skin so she’ll always remember the moment she needed him.

 

His free hand makes its way to her core, those slender fingers plunging inside her, claiming her. The moan it rips from her mouth is unholy, her nails digging into his shoulders, because the feel of him is too perfect, too good to be anything but sin. He curls and twists and she doesn’t have to tell him how to touch her, not anymore. He knows exactly what to do to make her writhe. He always has, but that wasn’t the point, was it? He made her tell him to teach her a lesson the only way he knew how.

 

“I need you, Doctor,” she pants into his ear, his fingers working harder, faster, even as his lips soothe her, shushing her, the breath on her neck permission to let go.

 

But he doesn’t understand the depth of her pleas. She needs him, not just now, but always. She needs things that can’t be asked of another being, things that can only be given. She loves him and she needs him to understand. 

 

 “I… I..” she tries again, arching into him, wanting the heat of his skin but finding only cloth. She breaks before her clumsy tongue can explain, trembling in his arms.

 

He’s kneeling above her when she comes down from her high, already making quick work of the buttons on his shirt. River sits up, slapping his hands away. It’s her turn now, and she asserts her newfound power by undoing the last of his buttons, pushing aside the fabric so her hands can explore the flat plane of his stomach. His skin is pale and soft and her teeth follow the path of her fingers, tongue tracing his hip bones. Her clever hands have found their way to his belt and buttons and zipper, sliding inside and _there he is._ They both moan as her fingers wrap around his length. River licks her lips, ready to ravish him.

 

“On your back,” she commands and he obeys like her word is law, her desires a fixed thing he gladly concedes to. She rids him of his trousers and pants, tossing them aside like the sight of them offends her. Finally, he’s as bare as she is, honest and raw and naked in all his glory, nothing between them but the wedge they're whittling away with every breath. Her hips straddle his and where hands would normally taunt and tease, now they only take purchase on his chest, nails clamping down as she positions herself over him and slides down, taking him in.

 

He grabs at her hips like a man on fire, shocked and desperate and _burning_. Her name or a curse or an unholy moan is forced out between his lips, taking the air in his lungs with it as River throws her head back and begins to move. She is neither slow nor steady. Her rolling hips are erratic and fierce, taking what she needs from him, burying him deeper inside her with every thrust. He lifts his hips up to meet her and River clamps her thighs tighter in warning. He had his fun, his turn to make her wanton and needy, to hear her beg. But she’s in control now, taking what she needs from him the way he’d asked her to. And when her nails claw a path from his clavicle to his navel, red tally marks like scars across his chest, the Doctor only hisses, head thrown back like pain is the only thing keeping him grounded, the marks she leaves on his skin as vital to him as the air he breathes.

 

It isn’t like they’ve never laid together like this before, like rough hands haven’t taken more than their share or their bodies been overwhelmed with need. It isn’t as if adventure and adrenaline never got the better of them, as if nights never ended in teeth and screams. But this is something new. This is more than just taking out the pain of twisted timelines on one another’s skin. This is more than demanding to be sated.

 

In the heat of ecstasy, he reaches for her face, cupping her cheek. River relaxes into his touch, a moment of softness amid burning muscles and slapping skin and strangled moans. She clutches at his wrist, just as tender, as she brings his knuckles to her lips. It’s the same courtesy she showed the Cyber Planner, and yet it isn’t the same at all. Her actions are heavier now, carrying the weight of more than just practiced seduction. She can feel the scabs on his forearm from where her desperate nails dug into his flesh, and she drops kisses like apologies on the back of his hand and the scratches that still decorate his skin.

 

“I know that you knows things,” she pants, nipping at his finger so hard it makes the Doctor yip. “Unspeakable things.” And the rise and fall of her hips is a harsh contrast to the gentle cadence of her voice, hiding her vulnerability with teeth and nails until he is as lost as she is, caught somewhere between ecstasy and agony, between honesty and raw adrenaline. The Doctor blanches anyway and River strokes his face, cooing, “It’s okay.” She promises. “Whatever it is, you are forgiven.”

 

His eyes shut, lips trembling in a way that’s so unlike her Doctor it makes her hearts break. She collapses onto him, lips finding his in a messy kiss, a blatant attempt to hide her own watering eyes. Her hips slow and his hands caress up her thighs and over her backside, keeping her close. It’s tamer than before, more sensual than hungry, but the new angle makes him rub against her beautifully, slow and purposeful as the turn of the earth.

 

“There are things I can’t tell you,” he mutters against her mouth as their panting lips part. “Things I can’t explain. I wish I could, but I-“

 

“Spoilers,” River interrupts, a ghost of a knowing smile shinning in her eyes.

 

“Exactly,” he agrees, that same melancholy acceptance hiding in the corner of his twitching cheeks. “But I can show you how much now means, how much it hurts to keep things from you.”

 

“Show me,” she moans, because _this_ is what she wanted after Manhattan. She wants to see him and not the façade he's been showing her. She wants to know if their hearts are shattered into the same tiny pieces. She wants to know if secrets burn him the way they do her, if they fill the holes in his soul like acid, eating its way down to his bones. It’s selfish but she wants to know if it hurts him when she’s gone, if her perfume on his pillow is something he craves, if he’s dreading the morning he wakes up and she’s gone.

 

He doesn’t disappoint, answering all her unspoken questions by flipping their positions, pinning her beneath him once again. One hand tangles in her hair, the other gripping her hip hard enough to bruise. Her nerves are still on fire and it hurts so _good_ to have his hands on her like this. His touch is as hungry as Clever’s had been, but this time it’s laced with adoration and love rather than danger and lust. Affection clouds the air as much as mutual suffering and it almost feels like she’s suffocating on this bond that they share.

 

When he pushes into her this time, the fullness is almost painful, nerves shot and raw, screaming for more. River arches into him, towards penance and pleasure, her nails digging into his back. He thrusts inside her again and again and it’s funny how they can’t stop hurting each other, even now. It’s funny how she’s come to love the ache.

 

Her insides have begun to coil, building and tightening, centering around the places their bodies meet. He’s holding her here, on the brink of bliss, toying with her as she teeters near the edge.  “Sweetie,” River gasps into his ear, his title a frustrated groan as she demands her release.

 

“Say please,” the Doctor pants, dropping a kiss on her pulse point. “Beg for me, my River.”

 

Stubbornly, she tries to fight the plea that so eagerly waits on her tongue. She wants to hold on a little longer, to balance here, to see if he’ll give it to her without being told. He keeps pushing her closer and then denying her until pleasure is building inside her at an unnatural rate. Her breathes come faster, her moans louder, her whimpers higher in pitch, and just as she’s about to surrender, as the word he wants to hear is about to fall from her lips, his hand wraps around her neck and squeezes.

 

 _Please_ catches in her throat, never reaching her tongue. Suddenly she’s spinning, falling, tumbling, hurdling and her Doctor is right there with her, catching her. Maybe they can stay like this forever, trapped somewhere between finally being able to tell him what she wants and him knowing exactly what to give her before her request ever falls from her lips.

 

She’s choking on the breath that begs her release and the oxygen burns her lungs and it’s fire and ice and love and war and pleasure and pain all building inside her at once. Their eyes meet and he’s watching her so _so_ carefully. Her favorite lover and worst enemy. Her savior and sinner and love and lust and trust pouring out of him. His grip tightens just so and the next thing she knows she’s screaming, her release rocking through her like a tidal wave, a dam shattering and consuming everything in its path. The Doctor follows after, or maybe she drags him. But either way he’s gasping in her ear, repeating her name like mantra.

 

The come down finds her like spring air, the sweat on her skin cooling and his body draped over hers like a blanket. Both their chests are heaving, his face still buried in her hair and her pulse receding to a dull roar. River only just finds her way back down from her impossible high in time to hear him as he quietly sighs, “I don’t blame you.”

 

It takes a moment for her brain to catch up, for the blood to rush back to her head and her synapses to fire. It takes a heartbeat or two to realize that he may have heard every word spoken between the Cyber Planner and herself, that her cruel confession may not have been only for Clever’s ears. River’s hands tighten around him, half afraid he’ll turn to dust before her.

 

“Nor I, you.” She swallows, because most days, it’s true. “I don’t blame you for any of it, least of all that.” She means her misspent youth as well as Manhattan, her parents stolen on both accounts. It's striking some times, just how much she's lost under the Doctor's banner. Not his fault, of course, and she doesn't regret a moment of her life. Her battle is won; she is her own. Her parents were happy. The Doctor lives. But there are things in life she will never get back, days she will never have because of the path she chose to walk down. Even now, in the wake of everything, she wouldn't change a thing, but not a day goes by that she doesn't count the cost.

 

“Don’t you think you ought to?” And he sounds so guilty, River can’t help but turn to face him.

 

“Self-loathing doesn’t suit you, Doctor.” She’s genuine and perhaps harsher than she should be. And maybe that’s why he huffs out a sound that’s almost a laugh. 

 

“Shame, it’s my best talent.” His playful tone falls flat as he slides off her, lying next to her on the bed.

 

River doesn’t let him go far, keeping her hands planted firmly on his chest so he doesn’t slip away. The aphrodisiac has faded from her system, exhausted by adrenaline, but her palm still tingles against his skin, the feel of him the most intoxicating drug there is. He’s looking past her rather than at her and she’s terrified that she’s scolded him too soon, that she shattered whatever bubble they had made, that any moment he’ll retreat back into himself and they’ll never speak of this moment again, that the things she asked for and the things he gave will just become more dust in the tomb of things from which he’s running.

 

“I know it might not seem like it,” he whispers, and River’s hearts sore at the sound of his voice. “But I do trust you, River.” _With my life_ goes unspoken and the air is too thick and maybe that’s why his cheek twitches, a smile tugging those beautiful lips. “I trust you to do whatever you want despite my wishes.” A laugh bubbles out from between her own teeth as he gazes at her, sweat on his brow and an earnest look in his eye she is so rarely privy to, that he’d rather no one ever saw. “I trust you because I know you’ll do what’s right. Whatever it takes.” A long exhales is pulled from his lips and along with it flows, “And that terrifies me.”

 

As much as she relishes the honesty, River can’t help the way her reflexes snap, words as gentle as they can be as she says, “Don’t do that. Don’t treat me like them.” Like the companions and strays he picks up along the way, the ones he feels an undeniable obligation, a duty of care. She isn't like them, never was and never will be. River's eyes search his, boring into them in hopes she can imprint her message on his soul. “You owe me nothing, Doctor. My actions are my own and I won’t have my life on your conscience.”

 

“And yet you can carry mine on yours?” It’s a challenge, but it isn’t meant to bait her, only stand trail for the days events, for the poison she willingly took but wouldn’t dare let touch his lips. 

 

But it hardly matters, because River still wants to scream, _Yes_. Because it’s obvious. Because that’s the way it’s always been. She is capable of terrible things, has done, will do, anything for him. Love of him made her more dangerous than anything the Silence could have taught her. For love of him, she could burn worlds and never flinch. But the Doctor? She needs him to be good, for her own sake, because if he is the monster they said he is, then what is she? After everything she's done, River holds no hope for her own soul. But his, the healer, the pacifist, saving him is the best thing she's ever done. And she intends to keep doing it.

 

But her truth would scare him as much as his does her, so rather than spill her thoughts, River softly explains, “The Cyber Planner, he said that you would burn the universe for me...” she fights the way her eyes water at the very thought, somehow keeping her voice from cracking as she breathes, “I don’t want you to.”

 

He's quiet for a long moment, no doubt weighing the consequences of his words, deciding if it's all her wants he'll cater to or just the ones he sees fit. There's a sigh on his lips when he reaches for the hand she's splayed across his chest, his fingers tracing along the wrist that's meant to be broken as he asks, “So the universe I have to save, but you,” his eyes find hers, salve enough to heal any wound. “You have to wear the scars?”

 

“Yes,” River states and it sounds like _not one line,_ her gaze as heavy as his had been a long time ago by a lake side.

 

“That isn’t fair,” he argues, but even as he says it, it sounds like surrender.

 

River forces a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Things hardly ever are.”

 

To punctuate her point, a ringing echoes through the corridor, the TARDIS phone piercing the air like an alarm. Their time is up, the moment shattered. On the other line waits disaster and the voice of his next distraction, and River can’t bear the thought of her parent’s replacement roaming these halls, not yet.

 

The Doctor lets out a long-suffering sigh as he makes to sit up, pulling away from her embrace. Without thinking, River reaches out, the tips of her fingers grazing his forearm. He stills instantly, turning to meet her, acknowledging her unspoken question. Her hand shakes and her muscles twitch to retreat, to surrender to the way things always are, to let him go.

 

But she doesn’t, because instead _what you are going to be, Melody, is very, very brave._

 

“Stay,” River breathes, soft as the cradle she never had and as strong as her mother wanted her to be. It’s not fair, what’s she’s asking of him, to turn his back even though somewhere, somewhen, someone needs him. But right now, she doesn’t care about the needs of those outside this room. She doesn’t want to go, to leave this bubble they’ve created. Just this once, she wants to be selfish.

 

The Doctor smiles, floating back to her like a weight has been lifted. Wrapping his arm around her and curling into her side as he whispers, “I thought you’d never ask.”

 

 


End file.
